


We’re Not Meant for That

by moyzi



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Break Up, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moyzi/pseuds/moyzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Life went on like this for a long time, the realization that he was already twenty-five rolling around like a slap to his face, bringing a wave of panic that he was going no where, or maybe just no where worth going."</p><p>Shizuo gets more than he bargained for after drunk-dialing an ex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You've Gotta Start Somewhere

Shizuo never really imagined his virginity would be that big of a deal.

He had lost it back in high school, and at that age, his gun would’ve nearly gone off before leaving the holster. It was, surprisingly, to a certain flea, and it all had been messy and sloppy but at the time, it had felt like the best thing, and only later at the beginning of his twenties had he realized there was much better sex to be had. And, even later in life, he had learned there were much better things than sex, such as checking his account to find there was enough to scrape by on rent this month, or doing laundry and finding a crumpled bill that he’d forgotten he’d had.

Back then, he’d never told anyone of his liaison, and apparently neither had Izaya, because even though everyone still saw Izaya and him as a pair, it was never the sort of pair he had wanted them to be seen as. 

He also discovered that what had happened before was more emotional than physical, and that had ruined him from the start, had slapped the ball and chain around his ankle before he’d even realized what had happened.

He got his taste later, though. Wasn’t forced to meditate on what could have been because he and Izaya had tested the waters at a relationship just after Izaya graduated college, but even if it had started off well, it wasn’t long before everything crumbled. Sure, the sex was great, it was nice to have someone around, but Izaya was different than he'd remembered. Still annoying, still teetering on some edge of instability, still fond of meddling where he had no business, but now all to greater scales. Those were bumps their relationship just couldn’t survive, and as it progressed, Shizuo found their conversations just had no air beneath them, would deflate so quickly it didn’t even seem worth his time. Izaya didn’t seem all that torn up when he packed his bags, either.

Years later, and Shizuo hadn’t seen or heard from Izaya much, but still thought of him occasionally, because he’d stumbled upon some belonging Izaya had left behind, and even after all this time it still smelled like him. Or, some movie would come on the television, and it was nice to view it without Izaya’s consistent comments—the complaints of the inaccuracies of the movie or a psychological analysis on every character—but then again it was also so lonely. He’d still remember how they’d watch, how Izaya would swings his legs up to rest on Shizuo’s lap—would sit too close for comfort, really. But Shizuo liked it. He liked the scent of Izaya’s hair, always like the shampoo they’d share because he’d never miss a shower. 

He remembered the story behind that shampoo clearly: Izaya had made him a list, had formally typed everything he wanted from the store, and Shizuo returned with everything right, except he’d grabbed the wrong shampoo. Shizuo, of course, was bombarded with Izaya’s passive aggressiveness, but in the end, Izaya used it, and wasn’t whiny enough to demand Shizuo go back and buy the right kind. After the bottle had met its end, Shizuo continued to buy it, and Izaya never said another word about it.

Also, there was those rituals of Izaya’s, and they must’ve still been in the air because Shizuo would still play along, would still scrub his hands clean before doing things, would still be wary of where he placed what. If he’d falter, he’d imagine Izaya nagging in his ear, though he was never there now to correct his mistake. He’d even leave his carton of cigarettes where Izaya had requested: just by the refrigerator, far enough from the bedroom so Izaya wouldn’t even have to see them, and close enough to the door so Shizuo could snatch them on his way out. Even now, he followed this, though many days he’d consider smoking in his room, breaking free from that tradition that only made him think of Izaya more.

The only thing he could do when slipping into these ruts—like he’s in now, like he’s been in for the past two years straight—was chainsmoke, hoping the nicotine would eventually zap the thoughts, just as it certainly did his brain cells, his health, his wallet. Of course, he’d still go outside to do it, per Izaya’s old request, and during the colder months, it’d prove to be hell, because he’d return inside with a throbbing earache and chattering teeth, and all that pissed him off almost more than his recurring thoughts of Izaya had.

He didn’t keep in contact with Izaya, like any of his other exes. But, unlike his other exes, they hadn’t even made such a promise, hadn’t even vowed to stay friends because honestly, it would’ve been too painful for the both of them. The breakup was a mess, just like the rest of their relationship, and to hold onto that would only rip apart some other seam of the life they were trying so desperately to balance, and in the end, it was never worth it. Izaya skipped town, and whether he still talked to any of their mutual friends was unbeknownst to Shizuo. 

When he’d tried dating again, he didn’t discover true love, he’d only discovered just how boring he really was, having fallen into some repetitiveness when involved with Izaya. A few times, he’d been successful, had gone on a second and a third and sometimes even a fourth, and by that point he’d usually have taken them home, and when they wouldn’t call back he wasn’t sure if it was because he had performed so terribly or if the failure of his potential relationship spawned from his self-doubt and hesitation to just pick up the phone and call himself.

Life went on like this for a long time, the realization that he was already twenty-five rolling around like a slap to his face, bringing a wave of panic that he was going no where, or maybe just no where worth going. Serotonin had since depleted, as well as his bank account. Celty had eventually convinced him to go see someone, so he made an appointment with a psychiatrist, only to regret the decision just after hanging up the phone. He went anyways, though, and the psychiatrist had slapped all of his problems under the label of major depression, even though Shizuo thought his _real_ problem was a certain brunet, and prescribed some pills that Shizuo knew he was never going to take—or remember to take, for that matter. Besides, he didn’t have the money for the pills. He declined and never went back.

Shizuo, after having somewhere between too much to drink and not enough, decided to call one night, but Izaya didn’t answer, of course, and he thought himself stupid for even trying, threw his cell phone against the wall and just watched as it shattered, the pieces falling to the carpet like droplets of water. After that, he was only mad at himself because he’d have to waste money to buy a replacement.

He thought about Izaya a lot now, all the dumb fights they’d had. Their first major argument, something more than just the current channel or who was taking the trash out, was on the topic of children. Shizuo visited his parents, flew the coop because honestly, the only entertainment Izaya provided on most days was the sound of key-strokes and the occasional departure from his computer to fix himself a glass of water. Once there, Shizuo found the whole family was together again: his mother, father, even Kasuka and Shizuo’s sister-in-law, Ruri. The dinner was superb, the entire time Shizuo had just savored the flavors melting onto his tongue, familiar and agreeable to his tastebuds. 

But, the worst part of it all, had been the constant stream of thoughts in Shizuo’s mind, the consistent act of pondering on whether or not Izaya would ever cook dinner rather than relying on late-night deliveries. Shizuo knew he could always cook dinner for himself rather than relaying all of the responsibility to Izaya, but perhaps the thought of Izaya cooking, maybe the two even fixing dinner together, enticed him. 

If anything else left a sour taste in Shizuo’s mouth concerning the night, it had been his inability to contribute to any conversation. Ruri had not too long ago given birth, the baby boy now a whopping eight months old, and with Kasuka’s arm draped over her shoulder, Shizuo felt his romantic life to be nothing far from pathetic. Luckily for him, no one asked. But, when dinner ended, Shizuo had strayed from the dwindling chatter, strolled over to see his nephew for himself. It was almost surreal, looking down at what seemed to be the most fragile being in the entire world, knowing that in his veins pumped the blood of Shizuo’s family. As Shizuo rattled his keys, the baby puckered his lips, corners of his mouth eventually turning upwards to reveal two teeth. It wasn’t as if it were his child, but it awoke a desire within him—a family. 

He’d thought of the mechanics of it before ever approaching Izaya. Of course, very quickly had Shizuo realized the process may have some complications: being both male, they’d have to find a surrogate mother, or adopt. Shizuo felt that he’d love to have a child of his own, feeling that the biological similarities would maybe strengthen their bond, but was too terrified at the thought of his abnormalities being genetic. He next considered Izaya, imagining that offspring as a brainiac, maybe terrifying if things went haywire. But, there were so many good qualities of Izaya: his pearly smile, defined cheekbones, sharp jaw. When Shizuo had finally built up his argument and confronted Izaya, he’d been given a stern no. Shizuo prodded, but soon regretted that inability to drop the topic, Izaya crushing Shizuo’s whole being with one acidic statement: “You’d be an awful father.”

Now, Shizuo didn’t remember what he said during the breakup, but he was positive it wasn’t good, because he does remember what Izaya said, because the string of words still slip into Shizuo’s mind late at night: “I hate you … Shizu-chan, isn’t it awful we’ve wasted two years on each other? … Ha-ha, _two years_! Two years of your mediocre sex, and your stupid cigarettes, and your fucking contagious insecurity! … Oh, what would you call our relationship then? A waste of time? Our last-ditch effort at companionship? The best thing is the fucking sex, and even that’s not any good? … When I’m gone, please, try your best to die.”

And then the holidays rolled around, and those times Shizuo would feel guilty if he didn’t take Izaya because Izaya had told him he always celebrated alone. And, of course, Izaya was charming and instantly won the affection of all of Shizuo’s family members, all in a few hours when it had taken Shizuo a whole childhood and adolescence. But, now that only added insult to the injury because when Christmas came those years he’d still be asked where his friend was, his younger cousins would talk about him, bring up memories he would rather just forget. Especially the ride there, when Izaya would drive and wear his glasses, and Shizuo would steal glances because God, he just looked so good in them. Or when, toward the end of their visit, one of the youngins made a comment about them both being under the mistletoe, and before Shizuo could tell what had happened Izaya had pulled him close and crashed their lips together as the rest of the family became a choir of “aw’s”, and Shizuo’s face had flushed because Izaya was never fond of public displays of affection, but at that moment it had seemed like everything changed. And, on the ride home, Shizuo was gullible enough to think that that would be the change of everything, that after that one atypical moment everything could get better. He was wrong. So, so wrong.

And then there was the next Christmas, when that night they were planning on heading to Shinra’s, but the snow fell heavier than expected and they were restricted to only their apartment. So, they exchanged their gifts. Izaya had gotten Shizuo a new watch, rose-gold and no doubt expensive, and Shizuo instantly felt bad upon opening it. But, he sat back, watching Izaya unwrap his gift, all the while contemplating ripping it from his hands and asking for a rain-check. He hadn’t known what to get Izaya; the male never shared details of his hobbies, of his work, so of course he wouldn’t be the kind to type a formal wishlist. In a last-ditch effort, Shizuo bought a couple books, realizing he’d probably never entered a bookstore before then. He recalled Izaya rambling about humans, about how much he’d loved people, and especially his movie commentary, so Shizuo settled on some psychology and sociology books. Upon flipping through them, Shizuo saw a jumbled bunch of words he couldn’t pronounce, and figured this would be right up Izaya’s alley. 

But, as he watched Izaya ungift them, he cursed his past self for not trying harder. Izaya’s eyes widened, his lips seesawed somewhere between pleased and disappointed, and Shizuo made his decision, lunged forward to snatch the books from Izaya’s hands, already beginning his long apology and promise for something better. But, Izaya pulled away the books so they were just out of Shizuo’s reach, and then looked back to him, mouth curving into maybe the sweetest smile Shizuo had ever seen from him. “Is Shizu-chan going to take back his gift?” he’d asked, and Shizuo just grumbled something in response, something about Izaya not liking it. “Is Shizu-chan making assumptions?” he’d asked, and Shizuo could see it was quickly turning into that rhetorical-question game Izaya loved playing, because he loved having this imaginary upper-hand. Shizuo didn’t fall for it, and instead slumped back into the couch, arms crossed like a stubborn adolescent. It was shortly after that that Izaya had given Shizuo a very _different_ kind of gift, one that left Shizuo’s body shuddering and craving more.

Shinra still threw those holiday parties, every year on late Christmas night. Shizuo would show, the first year hoping Izaya would, too. That was wishful thinking. But, Shizuo stayed, even if the one thing he wanted hadn’t shown, and he’d remembered getting really acquainted to eggnog and one sweet spot on the couch, remembered thinking that as soon as he stood, the couch would have every detail of his back imprinted on it. The next two years, Shizuo didn’t even bother to show.

There was one he had shown up at, becoming some guest-star appearance practically. It was Halloween, the first party of its kind that Shinra had ever hosted. “ _The beginning of a new tradition_ ,” he’d called it. “ _Yet another time people can see our perfect, domestic lifestyle!_ ” he’d went on to say, draping an arm around Celty’s shoulder, who didn’t hesitate to shrug him off. But, once again, Shizuo only became the friend of alcohol, had passed up on food to embrace a bottle. He hadn’t even worn a costume. By the end of the night, Celty had been forced to escort him home, and only upon fumbling with the keys of his apartment had he realized how plastered he really was.

When he finally made it inside, the first thing he’d done was collapse to the couch, allowing it to consume him. He was still far from sober—not drunk enough to kill himself, but drunk enough to do something that may make him want to kill himself later. He’d done the latter, had whipped out his phone and called Izaya again. There’s nothing like still being obsessed with an ex three years later. 

It went to that tone, that operating lady requesting Shizuo to leave a message, and instead of shattering his phone, he’d taken her up on that offer. The message, Shizuo doesn’t remember to this day, a whole two weeks later. Only that it was probably horrible, cringe-worthy, nothing he’d ever want to hear for himself. The next morning, he’d made a silent prayer to God, hoping that Izaya had already thrown that particular phone away (he’d kept a million of the things) or that he wouldn’t see it for some odd reason Shizuo couldn’t conjure. He then got so pissed at himself, he’d smashed his phone anyways. The next one, he’d thought, would need to have some way to stop him, some way to alert him he was drunk dialing an ex and was about to make the second worst mistake of his life.

\--

It was November 14th, another year almost under his belt and then the next he’d be twenty-six. A whole whopping twenty-six years of averageness down, only God knows how many left to go.

He woke up, got up from bed just like any other day, only at the last moment possible, when he’d glanced over at his clock and realized that, if he didn’t make any effort to drag himself from bed now, he’d never be able to do so. That meant sacrificing a lot of things: food, rent, cigarettes, booze. That meant sacrificing money.

After getting around for work, shaving with a razor that was on its last leg and taking a much too cold shower, Shizuo parted from his apartment to begin his day. A hard thing to do, but necessary. It wasn’t too long before he’d arrived, a small coffee shop just on the corner. Tom was there, already seated, one cup of coffee hot and ready on the table, one glass of milk just across from that. “Hey, Shizuo. How you doin’ today?”

“Same as any other day,” Shizuo answered, slipping into the booth. “What about you?”

“I’m doin’ alright. Worse when I have to think about the job ahead of us.”

Shizuo lifted his glass to his lips, lowering it only to say, “That bad?”

“Well, yeah, I’d say so. Guy owes a lot of money,” Tom replied, lifting his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “But, nevermind about that. Work is work.” With a shrug, Tom sipped from the mug, just slightly smacking his lips at the first taste. Shizuo didn’t have any need to respond, just sacrificed leading a conversation to stare out the window, watching those blissfully unaware amble down Ikebukuro sidewalks.

Thankfully, Tom intervened. “You said you had a date last week? How’d that go?”

Shizuo sighed. “Same as always.”

“Didn’t work out? Bummer, man.” And then Tom continued, made the statement he always did when Shizuo informed him of another failed romance, “You know, they’re missing out. You’ve got that same face as your brother, and you’re hardworking as hell.” As typically done, Shizuo nodded, suffocating any words of negativity into the glass of milk.

\--

He’d returned home that night feeling just as empty as he had when he’d left, the only disparity being his physical appearance: What was once a well-fitted, ironed shirt now fell rather wrinkled and loose, his knuckles were bloody and bruised, a side-effect of his occupation. That day was no different than any other, until he’d opened the door.

Lights were on. Kitchen lights, the living room light. He’d cursed himself, every wasted second another cent added to his bill, all the while blaming his own incompetence. That was, until he saw the figure on the couch, curled so the whole body fit almost on one cushion.

The figure shifted, a yawn escaping through the lips as it moved its arm beneath to push itself from its position. It was only then, when the male was sitting upright, that it truly sunk in with Shizuo who was before him. The features of his face were softened in the television’s glow, his fingers wiggling in a wave. “Hey, Shizu-chan.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” was all Shizuo asked at first. With a shake of his head, a voice cracking under what was no doubt complete shock, he continued to ask, “How’d you even get in here?”

“Key. You never asked for it back, you know. Rather foolish of you.” Izaya lifted his hand, parading the cell phone between his fingers. “To answer your first question, you left me a very inviting voicemail. How could I refuse?” Shizuo felt his face flush, the blood simmering in his veins. “Oh? You haven’t heard it yet?”

“Shut up.” But, by that time, Izaya had stood from the couch, pressed his fingertip upon a button that generated Shizuo’s very drunk voice from his phone speaker.

“ _Hey … uh, I don’t know if you’re busy, or ...uh, even awake but …_ ”

“Turn it off!” Shizuo shouted, feet acting on an impulse. As he approached Izaya, the latter fled, skating through the furniture to get to the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. All the while, the message still played, sounding through the wood door:

“ _Just … well … Christ, I miss fuckin’ you, a lot … or, I mean, I fuckin’ miss you … or both, whatever. Shit, I’ve fuckin’ screwed this up already._ ”

Shizuo slammed his back to the door, maybe at first a rough attempt to break it down, but he soon resorted to sliding down until his ass met the floor, so tempted to leave but also so determined to reach what was on the other side. For that reason, he submitted to the torture, to listening to his two-weeks-ago self choke on his tears into a phone. 

“ _You know, Celty said I should go see someone … they think I’m fuckin’ nuts, I’m sure. Therapist-guy told me I was depressed, or some bullshit. I don’t buy it, I just think they wanna get me hooked on those pills so I’ll cough up some money. I think my only problem is you. But, hey, you probably don’t give two shits about this stuff … you never fuckin’ did. I, uh … I’m sorry about everything, alright? Could you, um … could you call me back sometime, or maybe come over sometime? I just … I’d like to see you. So … yeah, please just get back to me. Bye._ ”

By the time the voice dwindled and from the phone speaker began the woman’s voice—the very voice that had gotten Shizuo into this mess—Shizuo held his head with both hands, tugging at his blond hairs, wishing to rip them out because honestly, that discomfort would be his best bet at overtaking the feelings of embarrassment and frustration he held toward himself. His foolish self.

The door opened, the phone was clicked silent, and Shizuo nearly toppled from the loss of his dependent, having to tighten his stomach muscles to hold himself steady. He leaned forward afterwards, head hanging down, shamed. There was the scuffle of socks against the carpet, a drawn out sigh before Izaya sat on the floor just behind him. “Shizu-chan, are you embarrassed?”

There was that game again, the rhetorical-question loop. “Fuck off. You come here to rub it in my fuckin’ face? I get it, I drunk-dialed you. Won’t happen again, so just get the fuck out of here.” After saying this, of course, Shizuo listened vigilantly, whole body pausing at the thought Izaya might obey and leave, for once in his life and at a time when Shizuo didn’t really want him to. 

Izaya didn’t. Shizuo felt the back press to his, Izaya leaning onto him. “I came here to see you. I came here to give my assistance.”

Shizuo’s muscles tensed to even this hint of Izaya’s touch, his whole being on-edge. He grumbled, “Assistance for what?”

“Well,” Izaya explained, “I haven’t even heard from you in nearly three years, so imagine me, waking up to find this voicemail on my phone.”

“So what?”

“I’m here to remind you why you shouldn’t miss me.”

The words slipped right through Shizuo’s ears; he already _knew_ he shouldn’t miss Izaya. He uttered some blatant lie resting on the tip of his tongue, “I don’t miss you.”

“ _Really_ , Shizu-chan? Your past self seems to think otherwise. So, unless you have gotten over me within the past two weeks—which, would be quite remarkable, especially for you—I highly doubt your claim.”

“ … I don’t get what the fuck it is you’re trying to do here.”

“You aren’t getting any better on your own.”

“So, what?” The words gathered on Shizuo’s lips, inwardly trembling as he asked, “You trying to get back together with me?” 

“No,” Izaya stated, a matter-of-fact tone that crushed Shizuo’s every hope, snapped the rope he was clutching onto in one simple syllable. “I’m here to do the opposite.”

“Huh?”

“I’m here to remind you of just how awful I am. To remind you of why we didn’t work. Because, clearly, being distanced from the situation has made you senseless.”

Shizuo emitted a bitter chuckle as he rose to his feet and headed to sit back down but upon the couch, doing the very thing Izaya had just accused him of: Distancing himself from situations he’d rather avoid. “I don’t need your fuckin’ help. What are you gonna do for me anyways?”

“Well,” Izaya began, speech pausing as he stood as well, “I’m only here to be support. For the next few weeks, I’ll devote myself to you getting back on your feet.”

“Eh? How the hell are you gonna do that?”

Izaya circled the adjacent loveseat, plopping down upon it as if it were his, as if this were still his home. “I have ideas. It’s just really a bummer for me, to know you’re still dwelling on a relationship that has run its course.”

“Wow,” Shizuo grumbled, “how kind of you, to do something for yourself. Fuckin’ typical.”

“Who better to remind you of how awful Izaya is, then Izaya himself?” he said, arms outspread wide, as if just then offering Shizuo the entire world back. “Besides, I’ll only be around for the next month. That’s plenty of time for you to stop sulking,” Izaya began, his eyelids lowering to create a suggestive expression, “or maybe for you to persuade me to fall back into your arms.”

“I don’t want you,” Shizuo snapped, but his voice went uncharged, flat and unconvincing. It was his second lie of the night.

“We’re off to a good start then,” Izaya said, pouncing from his seat as he strolled to the kitchen. “So, you still keep your cigarettes by the fridge?” Shizuo looked over to see Izaya pinching the carton between his fingers, corners of his lips turned downwards, before tossing it onto the table. “Keep them somewhere else. Hell, light up in your bedroom.”

Shizuo didn’t respond, just tried to calm the storm inside him, eyeing the carton on the table, out of place. He looked back to Izaya when he heard the rustling, seeing Izaya with a fresh piece of paper and a pen in hand on the opposite side of his bar. “We’ll make a list.”

“A list?”

“A list of my awful characteristics,” Izaya responded, this peculiar, perky grin staining his lips. “What did we say was first?” He tapped the pen to his chin, face lighting up as the answer swept over him. “Ah, selfish! That was it.” Izaya scribbled that down.

“Wait, so what? You gonna stay here until I’m better?”

“No, I have work to do Shizu-chan, so I’ll only be around a couple times a week, at most. Don’t you remember that, how I’d always be busy and you would get so grumpy over it? There’s a good one, always working.” Shizuo could hear the scratchiness of the pen gliding across the paper. Izaya cocked his head. “Aren’t you going to help?”

“What? You want me to help?”

“Well, you are the only one who truly knows what you hate about me.”

Shizuo pushed himself from the couch, closing that distance between him and Izaya as he slipped into a bar stool. “Alright, well … ” It was much harder than Shizuo expected it to be, to think of reasons as to why he hated Izaya, to remember why exactly it was they never worked. He pressed his lips together, sliding his elbow on the bar and resting his face in his palm. “You’re really stubborn, and inconsiderate, and, uh, annoying as hell.”

“One at a time, please!” Izaya joked, quick motions of his hand as he jotted down the words. 

“Oh, forgot controlling. Add manipulative to that, too.”

Izaya’s head remained down, transmitting all of Shizuo’s words to the paper, but Shizuo caught the smallest, hesitant smile upon the brunet’s lips, his visage softening. “You’re good at this, Shizu-chan.”

They stayed that way for a while, Shizuo rambling on about why he hated Izaya, straight to Izaya’s face as the male copied the words. To finish, Izaya held the paper to the fridge, slapped a magnet on it to keep it there, the center of all attention. “Whenever you miss me, or whatever it is you do, you now have this list to look at.” 

Izaya eyed his paper as if it were a masterpiece, worthy of a museum display. Then, his eyes flickered back in a glance to Shizuo, but instead of the anticipated quick-look, they stayed there, Izaya’s once wide smile deflating into parted, expressionless lips. It seemed the whole world stopped, everything becoming silent under that stare. That is, until Izaya shattered the moment. “Are you still overusing razors? You need a new one.”

“Fuck off.”

Izaya’s lips parted in laughter, and at that moment, Shizuo thought the list just beyond them to be worthless, for all their hard work to mean nothing because the noise had just overshadowed it all. “That’s all for tonight, I suppose. If you need me, please, hesitate to call.” Izaya slipped his hands into his coat, pivoted on his heel and headed to the door. Just as he turned the knob, Shizuo’s words discontinued Izaya’s action.

“Can I ask you a question?” Shizuo asked hurriedly. Really, he had blurted it before he could truly think it through, before he had thought of the repercussion—Izaya’s deriding response, most likely. Thinking wasn’t his strong suit lately.

“What is it?”

“ … Uh, well. It’s just … was the sex really that bad?”

Izaya glanced over his shoulder, half of his mouth visible. The corner was turned upwards, giving a glimpse of his smirk. “If it was, do you really think I would’ve stayed for two years?” Shizuo didn’t respond, lips seemed sewed shut as he watched Izaya slip to the other side of the door. “Goodnight, Shizu-chan.”

“Night.” And with that, the door closed, and the apartment seemed emptier than it ever had before.


	2. One Step Backwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There were a lot of things wrong with his agreement, almost too many to count. Shizuo was more than apprehensive: This could either make or break him, and all of it was settled within Izaya’s hands, of all people."
> 
> Shizuo isn't really sure what he's gotten himself into, and he's not sure Izaya knows what he's doing either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos-es and nice comments!! And sorry it took a while for me to update this! Also, this chapter is a bit shorter. Thank you for reading!! :)

A week later, and Shizuo’s mind was still stuck, gears clanking together as they were hindered from turning. There were a lot of things wrong with his agreement, almost too many to count. Shizuo was more than apprehensive: This could either make or break him, and all of it was settled within Izaya’s hands, of all people.

“Shizuo, are you feeling alright? You don’t look so good.”

Lifting his eyes, Shizuo dropped the straw he’d been meddling with, ending his wordless and noncompetitive game of pressing the ice down to the bottom of the glass to meet Tom’s face. “Just, uh … didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Well, it looks more like you haven’t gotten sleep for weeks. You sure you don’t want a day off?” Tom asked, biting into his hamburger and shielding his mouth as he chewed. “You haven’t had one in months.”

“No, I’ll be alright,” Shizuo assured, though his tone was not so convincing.

“The good news is, we only have a few more debts to collect to wrap things up. That way, you can get home a little earlier and catch up on your sleep.”

“That’d be great,” Shizuo replied. Though his voice fell toneless these days, he truly did have a boyish excitement for something as simple as sleep. On that note, the two slid from their booths, tossing away the remnants of their lunch and exiting the restaurant.

What was supposed to be a few more debts, turned into an endeavor more complex, hours upon hours of scouring the city for those select faces. Their search had ended at 7 that night, when they finally located the last man. Shizuo, his anger being more than provoked, ended his day by no doubt breaking a few bones. Compared to his childhood, it was only different in that the bones weren’t _his own_.

He practically crawled back to his apartment, upper body conforming to movement but legs seeming like they were dragged somewhere behind. When he flung the door open, what he hadn’t expected to see was Izaya, knees to his chest as he sat under a mountain of blankets, room dark and Izaya’s facial features illumined by the television. The brunet turned his head, half of his face falling into the shadows. “Hey, Shizu-chan.”

“What the fuck are you doing here tonight?”

“Geez, are you going to ask me everytime I’m here?” Izaya asked, head tilted just slightly as his eyebrows pressed in. “You could’ve changed your locks. Or, was it that you secretly wanted me to show back up?”

“Shut up,” Shizuo snarled, averting his eyes as he stripped of his jacket and hung it upon a kitchen chair. He sighed deeply, headed over to open the fridge for his nightly glass of milk. “Just … what is it tonight?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Izaya retorted. “Besides, what else do you have planned? A date I should know about?”

Shizuo sipped the milk, walking over to sit next to Izaya. “No, I was just gonna sleep. Besides, even if I had a date, why the fuck would I tell you?” Shizuo glanced to the television screen, knowing he’d seen the movie before, with Izaya. He only remembered that the pinnacle of the plot was just minutes away because of Izaya’s ancient comments on replay within his ears. 

“Perhaps to gloat. Here I would be, sitting in your apartment watching a movie that I already have seen, while you charm someone over dinner,” Izaya rambled, and despite the topic seeming so dismal, his voice was laced with flippancy. “If you play your cards right, which you used to be fairly skilled at, I suppose you’d be luring them back here. By that point, would you kick me out? Oh, or maybe it’d heighten your pleasure to know I’d be on the other side of those thin walls?”

“Christ, have you fuckin’ thought about this? No, no, I’m not going on a date,” Shizuo responded, slumping back into the couch. “Hell, I would be too tired, anyways.”

“Well, wake up, because I had some good plans for us.” When Izaya flipped the blankets from himself, Shizuo had almost expected to be met with a very _different_ sight, but found the male was completely dressed, his outfit not his typical dress pants and black long-sleeve. He wore basketball shorts, a dark gray hoodie on top.

With brows knitted, Shizuo quizzed, “What the hell kind of plan is this?”

“I was planning on telling you from the start, but you’re kind of cute like this,” Izaya replied, a smirk on his face. “So, maybe I’ll blindfold you until we get there.”

“First of all, no chance in hell of that. Secondly, I’m not leaving this apartment.”

Izaya frowned. “What fun you are. Fine, no blindfold.”

“Still not getting up from this spot.”

Rocking the couch, Izaya was now on his feet, reaching down to curl his fingers around Shizuo’s wrist. Izaya pulled towards himself, exerting all of his force to lift Shizuo from his spot. Shizuo had barely budged. Seemingly in the realization that his physical effort was futile, Izaya let the other’s arm return to the couch, hands now placed on his own hips. He cocked his head to the side, his scowl suggestive of his disapproval. “Shizu-chan, you’re never going to get any better if you never try anything new.”

Shizuo sighed, neck stretching so that his head rested on the back of the couch, face directly met with the ceiling. “What the hell do I gotta wear?”

“Same as me. Or, at least close. Just … certainly not that bartender getup.”

__

The night was warmer than expected, but Shizuo’s bare legs and arms were still being tested by the breeze. Without a hoodie, he settled for a white shirt, hoping that would suffice for wherever Izaya was taking them. Though, as they advanced further down the sidewalk, Shizuo was left puzzled. “Where’s your car?”

“Ah … I like to walk more, these days,” Izaya said, to which Shizuo gave him a critical look. The brunet only laughed. “It helps me stay in shape.”

“I have a hard time believing you need help staying in shape. You’ve got a fuckin’ crazy metabolism. God, I remember we used to go out to eat, or pig out at home, and you’d always weigh after your bath, and you’d be the same damn weight you were before.”

“So, Shizu-chan remembers my habits? Forget them.”

“How am I supposed to forget?” Shizuo asked. “And, what’s the point? They don’t mean shit to me. I just ‘member them, that’s all.”

“Because, whether consciously or not, you’re inputting effort to recall such things. That means I’m still occupying some corner of your mind, because you almost do it obsessively. You could throw some of the stuff that remind you of me away.”

“Yeah, I could. But, you know what’s really reminding me of you? You, being here.”

Izaya’s smile was almost charming. Shizuo sought to blame it on other details: the light of the city street lamps, the quietness of the street, though civilians still stepped upon the sidewalks. When Shizuo had allowed his attention to return upon Izaya, the male rebuked, “I haven’t been here for two years. So, what reminded you before?”

Shizuo was silent the remainder of their walk, lips sealed shut in some kind of defiance. He’d audibly growled, a suppressed anger inching up his throat as he crossed his arms over his chest. But that was partially because he was starting to grow cold.

When they had arrived at their destination, Shizuo wanted nothing more than to turn around and head back home. “ _The gym?_ ”

“Yes, Shizu-chan. The gym,” Izaya answered nonchalantly to Shizuo’s comment, stepping forward to snatch a few towels from a stack and fix them beneath his arm. Shizuo took the opportunity to glance around, seeing the rows of equipment, only a few actually in use. Towards the back he spotted weights, a few guys lingering there, chatting and hooting and hollering—essentially, doing everything except lifting weights.

“Why the gym? As if I need to get any stronger.”

“Because, exercise is extremely beneficial to ridding depressive symptoms,” Izaya explained, throwing one towel Shizuo’s way, which the blond just barely caught. “And, I was sure you wanted to see me in shorts.” 

“ … Piss off.”

The pair entered the open space, fans clanking and cooling the room. It was almost too cold for Shizuo’s liking, but maybe that was a reasonable incentive to exercise and warm himself. Not too interested in lifting weights (What was the point?), he’d picked a treadmill. Izaya, naturally, selected the treadmill right beside his.

The first few minutes started out easy enough. Shizuo had set it to a rather slow pace, a walk that lacked a significant exertion of effort. It was relaxing, though he’d never admit it, glancing around the room as he listened to the whooshing of the treadmill’s belt. When he’d stolen a glance at Izaya, he noticed the male had his eyes fixed upon other people, attention bouncing every so often.

“What are you doing? It’s creepy as hell to check people out while they exercise,” Shizuo said, to which Izaya gave only a short laugh. Izaya shifted his brown eyes, abandoning the others to greet Shizuo’s face.

“I’m not checking people out. I’m … _observing._ ”

Shizuo let it go at that, scoffed and turned attention back forward. That was, until he heard the clicks, Izaya ramping up his speed until he was at a soft jog. Feeling almost inferior, Shizuo craned his neck, saw Izaya’s speed and turned his up one higher. Izaya noticed, lip curling but focus remaining ahead. Instead, as some sort of wordless competition, he’d cranked his intensity, running now much more than a simple jog. Shizuo, swept up with the childish game, did the same.

Running at that pace had only lasted a meager minute before Izaya was pressing his thumb down upon the speed button, belt operating even faster. Shizuo scowled, turned to his, and did the same, one setting higher. Now, running had turned more into a full-out sprint, no doubt earning side-eye glances from the others surrounding them.

It felt pretty good. Here Shizuo was, legs moving more rapidly than he’d ever expected—he wouldn’t know, though, because he never had a speed setting when chasing Izaya around the city—and unargueably running faster than Izaya. Though his own heart was thumping, the adrenaline was almost numbing him, and his lungs started to sting, Shizuo took pride when looking over at his losing competitor. Izaya’s reddenned face was dripping with sweat, the breaths forced. In all, it reminded Shizuo of the last time he’d seen Izaya in a comparable state. And, when that happened, Shizuo had let one slip of his thoughts get the better of him, transmuting into the slip of his feet. 

The safety key ripped out as he fell, the belt slowing but not before carrying him to the cement behind him. It had hurt, as far as hurting goes for Shizuo. It had maybe hurt worse that Izaya had cranked down his speed, glanced behind him with widened eyes, before bursting into laughter.

Of course, Izaya’s distraction had only met him with a similar fate. He nearly slipped, saving himself from a scene as embarrassing as Shizuo’s by flailing his arms to grasp for the treadmill’s side bars, upper body frozen but feet being dragged along with the belt. With a murmured obscenity, Izaya removed one hand to tug the safety key out, the treadmill beeping and ceasing its function.

Once safe, Izaya straightened his posture, stepped from the treadmill with a hearty laugh. He collapsed to the floor just beside Shizuo, the two becoming the center of attention for the entire gym. Shizuo couldn’t help but laugh, too, and there were undeniable snickers around them contributing to the noise. Shizuo didn’t care if they entire world was pointing and staring, holding their guts as they cackled at him. All Shizuo did was drape his arm around Izaya’s shoulder, pulling the brunet closer to him as both of their bodies quaked in mirth.

__

Their merriment had lasted the entirety of their journey home, only diminishing as they plopped down upon the couch. Both emitted sighs, the smell of their sweat permeating the apartment air. Shizuo caught his breath in quiet until he could see Izaya’s face turned towards him from the corner of his vision, and moved his head to look back.

“That was fun, wasn’t ... it?” Izaya asked, pauses due to his shortness of breath, still holding a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “Maybe … we … should’ve gone more often … back then.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

It had been in the moment their eyes had locked that Shizuo melted within Izaya’s gaze, sought to reach out and pull the male close to him just like before. But, he stopped himself, settling for the eye contact. “I have another surprise for you.”

Shizuo swallowed the lump in his throat, mind exploding with the possibilities that vague statement held. “Yeah?”

“Wait here,” Izaya said, palms to the couch as he jumped up. Shizuo’s eyes remained on him, watching Izaya walk across the room before stopping at the cabinet. He wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the top fully, so he’d climbed upon the counter, and Shizuo was unable to suppress a chuckle at the sight. On both knees, Izaya stretched his arms upwards, shirt lifting to reveal just the smallest inch of pale skin. His fingers curled around a black box, and he’d tilted back to shut the cabinet, followed by his graceful descent.

“What is it?”

Izaya sighed, strolling back to the space with the box held like some sort of trophy. “Don’t you know the definition of surprise, Shizu-chan?”

“Shut up,” Shizuo responded frivolously, reaching out the accept the gift extended to him. Izaya sat back down on the cushion beside him, eyes burning into Shizuo as he’d opened the lid. What was inside caused a blend of emotions. 

“ … _Cake?_ ”

“Yes. Isn’t it your favorite kind? Ah, at least, I thought so. I only remembered the name, but I don’t really know what the ingredients are, to be frank. I never cared for sweets. But, you probably knew that.” Izaya had looked away, gaze distant as his lips pressed tightly. “My deepest apologies that it’s warm, but I didn’t want you seeing it, and I knew you’d go straight for the fridge when you got home, whether it was for milk or … you know, that thing you’d do when you were hungry, stand in front of the fridge and eat whatever you could get your hands on.”

Shizuo’s eyes strayed from the treat before him, looked back to Izaya’s profile. He let the hint of a smirk play upon his lips. “Hey, you remembered something I used to do. Isn’t that what you were preaching against?”

Izaya, shockingly enough, had paused, some falter of his poise unmistakable as his eyebrows drew together and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Then, as if it had never happened, Izaya turned to look at Shizuo with his classic grin, though this time, the expression had not held that habitual potency. “Even the best of us slip up sometimes.”

__

Shizuo woke up atypically early one morning the week following his trip to the gym, with a mind that bickered at him not to leave the covers but a body that drove him to do so anyway. He walked to the kitchen, grabbed a cigarette and made his way outside.

It was a brisk day, as most had been lately, true to the forecaster's prediction of this year being a little colder than usual. It hadn’t bugged Shizuo too much, though, especially with the wool sweater he had thrown on just before leaving his apartment. He almost appreciated the crisp air, serving as a background as he puffed on the slim smoke.

When satisfied, he headed back indoors, climbing upstairs to his apartment unit and returning to its sorry attempt at consolation. There wasn’t much else to do; Tom had given him today off, along with many others in the approaching weeks. Shizuo hadn’t had a day in which he was not working in so long that he almost forgot what he ever did for entertainment. So, he flipped on the television, turned to some channel on fishing, and not long after, fell back into a slumber.

He woke up to the sound of his door clicking open, craning his neck to see, through blurry vision, Izaya slipping inside. Voice still hoarse from his lethargicness, Shizuo asked, “What is it today?”

“You know, Shizu-chan, it’s not nice to greet me that way. _‘What is it today?’_ you ask, as if I’m a burden to you.”

“You are.”

“So cruel,” Izaya said dramatically, stepping into the room and stealing a seat just in front of Shizuo’s gut, where the blond’s body curved in just slightly to allow enough space. Izaya looked down at him, reached his hand out to slide his fingers through Shizuo’s hair. “Maybe you should shower. I was going to take you out today.”

“As if,” Shizuo grumbled, batting away Izaya’s touch. “You never paid when we went out.”

“But, really, the question is, how often did we actually go out?” Izaya retorted. “You were always so grumpy and never wanted to leave the house.”

“No, _you_ were the one always working.”

“Oh, but what’s the point in fighting about it now? Just get up and get ready.” 

Shizuo sat up, scooted to slide forward and stand on the other side of Izaya. “Fine. But where are we going? I don’t want to get there and find out we’re at the fuckin’ gym again.”

Izaya chuckled. “No gym this time. I think I’m still bruised from the last visit. I was just planning on going to lunch at Russia Sushi.”

Shizuo answered with a nod, straying from the couch and moving to his bedroom. As a precaution, he shut the bedroom door, locking it to constrict Izaya to only the living room and kitchen. The only bad thing he thought could result from that was Izaya poisoning his food, but even that seemed unlikely.

He took a fairly short shower, stripping down and jumping in for a quick lather. There was no unusual or significant occurrence in that time; Shizuo just left the bathroom and dressed in his typical bartender outfit. When he’d left his room, he saw Izaya still on the couch, though now, he was sprawled upon it, his head propped against the armrest and neck in a seemingly uncomfortable position. Izaya glanced over, parting from the television screen for just a second to scan Shizuo from head to toe. “You ready?” Shizuo asked.

Izaya grinned, sliding from his odd positioning on the couch to stand. “Of course,” he replied, and with a quick click of the remote to shut the television off, he and Shizuo left the apartment.

__

Shizuo watched as Izaya led, hands buried in his coat pocket and heels bouncing with a bit of a liveliness. Izaya would turn his head, look out into the city streets with this unsettling smile that made Shizuo feel as though the other was scheming, capable of doing something malicious. Even now, Shizuo had that intuition. 

Pivoting on his heel, Izaya pushed open the door of Russia Sushi, the bells overhead jingling to alert the restaurant of their entrance. Simon’s head instantly popped up from behind the counter, his smile from ear to ear. “I-zaya and”—his jovial expression slipped into a bewildered look—“Shi-zu-o?”

Shizuo lifted a hand, a simple wave as the two approached the counter and slipped into the bar stools beside one another. By that time, Dennis had entered the room, eyebrows knitted in the same puzzlement. Simon continued, an apprehensive grin as he spoke, “Ah, I-zaya and Shi-zu-o come for good sushi, da? I’m glad. Fighting is bad, sushi is good!” 

“Er, yeah, right.” 

As Izaya had placed their orders, Shizuo’s eyes had wandered, mindlessly admiring the new decorations. A lot had changed; he hadn’t been here with Izaya since they were together, had only shown up a couple times within the past three years with Tom on their lunch break. He still talked to Simon, of course. The man was hard to miss on the streets.

When their food was finally placed before them, Shizuo noticed that Izaya had gotten his order completely correct. His mouth had fallen open, stupefied; didn’t that mean Izaya had remembered his order, after all this time?

Not too fond of the idea of making a scene, Shizuo picked at his sushi, eating at a much slower pace than Izaya. But, still, it was an enjoyable experience. Simon always managed to cheer Shizuo up, and this time, Izaya hadn’t been as guarded, had joined in their conversation and laughed and joked unlike Shizuo had ever seen him do before. All in all, it reminded Shizuo a lot of simpler times, when he and Izaya would be dragged into Russia Sushi as Simon’s intervention on their fighting. Only now, Shizuo found it a lot easier to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading!


	3. Blast from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shizuo wanted to tell Izaya that what was different was _him_ , that now that he’d stumbled back into Shizuo’s life there was not even a consideration of anyone else. "
> 
> Izaya might be doing more harm than good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late/weird updates, I've been really busy this month!! Now that things have calmed down I'm hoping to update every week/every other week until it's done. Thank you for all those who have tolerated my sporadic updating. :') And as always, thanks for the kudos and comments!! :)

“I can’t believe you don’t own a computer, Shizu-chan. How old are you again?”

Of course, Izaya had to of known _beforehand_ Shizuo didn’t own a computer, because he had tugged along his laptop.

Along with a nonchalant click of the remote came, “Shut up. What is it that you want?”

Izaya sat just in front of the coffee table, legs criss-crossed as the mouse jittered on his laptop. Shizuo was seated just behind him, eyes vacillating between the television screen and that of the laptop, perhaps not living up to his denial of being interested in what Izaya was doing. 

“Sources say you haven’t been on a successful date since … well, _me_. So, I figured that because your methods certainly aren’t working, I’d sign you up for an online dating site.”

“ _No way._ I work for collecting fees from those people, I already know what type of people lurk around on those damn websites.”

“Oh, Shizu-chan—they’re not _all_ bad.”

“They’re sketchy as hell."

In a form of pouting, Izaya tipped his head backwards, resting it at the sofa’s edge. His neck was stretched in a way that seemed uncomfortable, bringing attention to the Adam’s apple jutting out. Shizuo’s eyes ran downward from there, in the direction of Izaya’s face, seeing the lips protruding just slightly and the brown eyes staring back at him. In Izaya’s vision, Shizuo must be upside down.

With some weird urge, Shizuo reached out to cup his hand around Izaya’s cheek, fingers curling inwards at Izaya’s jawline. He could see Izaya’s swallowing, but by the time Shizuo’s touch had landed, Izaya was seemingly far from tense. It was silent for a moment, and Izaya’s lips left their pouting state and flattened. By the time Shizuo went to speak again, his voice was inconsistent in pitch, as if it had been out of practice for a lengthy period of time. “I’m not using a stupid dating site.”

Izaya’s eyes remained on him, and Shizuo would admit he grew a bit self-conscious, began ruffling his own hair and touching at his own face. When Izaya spoke again, he seemed to have the same issue Shizuo had, but he was quicker at a recovery. “What if I set a date up for you?”

Shizuo wanted to reject the offer, because he thought another date would do him no good, not when Izaya was right here before him and Shizuo was even _touching_ him, feeling the velvety skin and sharp jawbone beneath the pads of his fingers. But, in that moment, Shizuo considered it. If Izaya were so hellbent on it, should he just give in?

But, unable to lie to Izaya, and to himself, Shizuo shook his head. “No. I don’t want a date.”

Izaya nodded, tilted his head back forward so that Shizuo’s touch slid right off. The slender fingers reached forward, cupped around the mouse and dragged upwards. On the screen, the pointer hovered just above the “x” in the top corner, to close the browsing window. It lingered there, Izaya unmoving.

Shizuo thought maybe he had done something wrong, began to undergo the onset of panic. _Why_ was Izaya so eager for Shizuo to go on a date?

And then, Izaya _really_ took Shizuo by surprise, as he always seemed to do. The male’s body was quivering, and Shizuo instantly came to the conclusion he had made Izaya _cry_ , even though Izaya had never done such a thing in three years together. Had Shizuo, in a span of a couple hours, really pushed Izaya over the edge?

Shizuo slipped to the floor, placed a hand on Izaya’s shoulders and pushed back to reveal his face. And, as he did that, he wondered if he shouldn’t, because seeing Izaya’s facade caving in would no doubt be too much to handle.

But what he found wasn’t _crying_ , it was _laughing_. It surely was—there were wrinkles just around Izaya’s eyes as there always was when he’d laugh, and his mouth was forming an odd smile.

Shizuo’s eyebrows closed in. “Wha—?”

“It’s just … I don’t even know. You’re ... just so ... _noble_ … and so _dumb_.”

There was no real offense taken, and maybe that was because Izaya was laughing instead of crying, and Shizuo was too grateful for that to be upset at anything else. With a few quick whines, and after emitting several final chuckles, Izaya was as normal as he could be again, shaking his head as his lips closed.

More out of curiosity and less out of anger, Shizuo questioned, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Izaya looked to him, eyes a bit wide as if he didn’t expect Shizuo to have listened to him. But, that wasn’t enough to really ruin his composure. The brunet smiled, shrugged, and said, “Just, _‘I don’t want a date’_.” He had done an imitation with the quote, voice dropping low and throaty as if trying to match Shizuo’s tone. “You said it so … strangely. Slow—like it was a movie. Perhaps acting does really run in your blood.”

“Yeah, okay, but what about the dumb part?”

“I’m offering you a free blind date, and you’re declining it,” Izaya explained. “And it’s not like I have terrible taste … or, maybe I don’t have the best taste. I suppose I dated you for a long time before coming to my senses.”

It stung a little worse than maybe was intended. “Fuck off,” Shizuo retaliated, in a voice that was undeniably defensive.

“Oh, relax. I was only joking, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo grumbled a response. It wouldn’t have meant much to anyone else, but it was almost as if Izaya was fluent in that wordless communication.

“Haven’t you gone on dates before, though? What’s different this time?”

Shizuo wanted to tell Izaya that what was different was _him_ , that now that he’d stumbled back into Shizuo’s life there was not even a consideration of anyone else. But, naturally, Shizuo held back that information. And, maybe that was only natural because he’d been with Izaya long enough to know what not to say. “Yeah, they just never work. So, I guess … why try?”

“Why don’t they work?” Izaya asked, turning back to his computer screen and dragging the mouse to complete the job of closing the window, leaving only the desktop screen in its wake. “Still terrible in bed?”

“Hey, you told me that—”

“I was only joking just now. But, yeah, you’re right. You’re probably average, at best, so it has to be something else.”

If it hadn’t been for the fact Izaya turned his head with his comment and flashed a playful grin, Shizuo might have believed him. With a sigh, he leaned his back to the sofa’s edge, and looked downward, fingers picking at the carpet—the carpet Izaya had, long ago, purchased. “I think maybe I’m just a little boring.”

“ _Boring?_ ” Izaya repeated. “ _You?_ Never!”

Shizuo could discern the blatant sarcasm, and shook his head. “You know damn well it’s true.”

And Izaya sighed, a sure sign he was tired of the conversation. “Maybe you started getting boring when we stopped fighting so much.”

“You mean—?”

“I mean, back in high school. At first, it was different, right? But after awhile, we fell into that pattern of normality. Surely you remember, that when we parted ways after graduation, it hadn’t felt all that bad? We had spent so much time focused on one another that we never properly developed as individuals.”

It made just about as much sense as anything Izaya said did. But, at this point, Shizuo didn’t care about the underlying reasons, he was only fixated on a solution. “So, what the hell do we do about it?” 

“We could change things up a bit,” Izaya proposed. “Just this once, to see what it does.”

“Are you saying—?”

“Let’s fight. Like we used to.”

\--

It all was done with over exerted lungs, with still somewhat aching legs, and a certain shooting pain every time shoes hit the pavement. It was all done awkwardly, body having been distanced from this sort of movement for so long. It was all done with an absence of voice, an unsettling lack of shouting and hollering. All that remained now was the uneven panting slipping from lips, the skin becoming numb and pained under the biting air. And there was the expected trickling of sweat, but perhaps it was stubborn to escape from pores in the cold.

There was a quick and sharp turn, and Shizuo nearly skated away on the thinned sheet of ice on the blacktop. He recovered before he could fall, however, and was right back on Izaya’s trail.

While locked in his pursuit, Shizuo remembered that he never liked all this conflict, because along with it came the provocation to utilize his strength, and the seduction to maybe take a life or two. But, of course, if it were Izaya’s life, it wouldn’t have been a big deal to him before.

They cut into an area with plenty of bystanders, Shizuo keeping his eye fixed upon that fur lining. There were gasps around him as he shouldered through, a few fingers pointed that he could only see just at the boundaries of his vision. To many of them, especially those older, the famous fight had returned. For those young, it was a sight unfamiliar.

Izaya disappeared just around a corner, and by the time he was back in Shizuo’s sights, he was not running. It was a quiet road, just outside of the steel beasts of buildings and closer to residential areas. And Izaya stood at the other end, feet rooted to the cement, and a knife drawn—for effects, Shizuo hoped.

“So, Shizu-chan, we meet again,” Izaya boomed, voice sounding as it had so many years before, supercilious and grating to Shizuo’s ears. And then, the brunet rose his eyebrows just slightly, nodded his head as if to coax some response from Shizuo.

“Oh, uh. Yeah! Um, dammit … flea.”

Izaya chortled, hunching over and sliding an arm around his gut. “Maybe … maybe you can’t act after all!”

Shizuo chuckled a bit, too, reached out to wave his hand and say, “No, no, wait! I can do it!”

Looking back up, Izaya’s laughter gradually faded, and then he pursed his lips and, not long after, his expression returned—a cutting gaze and complacent smirk.

Shizuo walked to the side, curled fingers around a stop sign and wiggled it from the cement. “Shit,” he muttered. He rose his voice, turning his head to Izaya once the stop sign was freed. “Hey, how the fuck did I do this everyday? Besides, am I going to have to fuckin’ pay for this later? You think they’ll make me do that now?”

Izaya laughed again, and Shizuo realized they weren’t too skilled at this anymore. “Oh, whatever, just hurry! I’ll cover it!” And, more swiftly than before, Izaya’s composure returned. He flicked his knife a bit, the blade reflecting the morning sun. “So, Shizu-chan. Who knew you’d be able to keep up?”

Shizuo lowered his voice, as if addressing the _other_ Izaya, “Hey, you told me to follow you. And you didn’t even run all that fast.” But when Izaya neared laughing again, Shizuo cleared his throat. “I mean, ‘course I could keep up, flea. You ain’t that fuckin’ fast.”

“So typical of you, really—to chase after me. It’s like you’re some kind of _animal_.”

“Yeah? Beats being _you_.”

“Oh?”

Shizuo shifted, gripped the stop sign with both hands. “ ‘Least I got a reason why people don’t like me. You, though. You do that to your fuckin’ self.”

Izaya rolled his shoulders, took a bold step forward. “Oh, yeah? So, Shizu-chan, since you seem to know everything—what is it that makes people not like me?”

“Well, for one, you’re a damn liar.”

Izaya’s smirk wavered. Another step forward. “Go on.”

“And you’re sketchy as fuck.”

If Shizuo didn’t know any better, he would say that everything was fine, that the air wasn’t tense between them, and that he wasn’t dishing out things that he had once believed. Izaya took another step, and now, he was scowling, with a knife still aimed at Shizuo’s throat. Shizuo had to remind himself that he had the stop sign for defense.

First came a heavy exhalation, and then a quick shake of his head. “And … you’re always ruining my life. Shit … I don’t deserve.”

Izaya’s brows knitted, and he was, at this point, very close. Too close for comfort, Shizuo would’ve said. But as the knife lowered, the tip of the blade no longer threatening his throat, Shizuo opened his hands to send the stop sign clattering to the concrete.

And after that barrier between them was crumbled, Izaya stepped over it, stood just in front of Shizuo, close enough that Shizuo could feel his breath, almost feel the vibrations from his throat. “You don’t deserve it, in your eyes. That’s what I love about humans. So self-serving. Even if they were incorrect, they couldn’t be convinced. That drive to be right … it’s almost … commendable. But, in your case, I … ”

Shizuo knew the ending, because Shizuo had heard it before.

“I _hate_ it.”

\--

Izaya had left from there, leaving Shizuo to return to his apartment without his company. He hadn’t said another word after his last remark, and that was a quietness so unlike him.

The first thing Shizuo did when he was home was shower. He stood under the scorching water, turned on the highest setting but it was still not enough for the lack of feeling in his skin. But maybe that wasn’t the result of cold weather anymore.

Showers were usually a favored action, because he could think about whatever might pop up in his mind. But now, it was only a certain brunet, and that reluctance of his as Shizuo hurled reasons for hatred that were no longer valid. And then, after Shizuo thought of that all he could, it was the curve of that smile, that distant look in brown eyes that always teased Shizuo to question what was going on behind them. And even later, it was more distant things, such as the smell and taste of exposed skin, the arch of his back, and the feeling of his lips and the warmness of his tongue. Shizuo wrapped his hand around himself until the frustration was gone.

After he had finished, and redressed in his typical sweatpants and tee, he found himself sprawled upon his bed. And maybe it was too early to think of sleeping again, but he did so anyway, because returning to sleep entailed leaving whatever troubled him behind, even if only for a few hours.

\--

“I have a good technique for us to try this time.”

Shizuo sighed, lifting his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What is it this time?”

It was Shizuo’s day off, Izaya had let himself in early that morning, when Shizuo had just woken up and was just preparing to have his first smoke of the day. Outside, as usual. But, Izaya stopped him, stood right in front of the door with limbs stretched, frowned and had said: “Smoke inside.” So, Shizuo plunked down on the couch, fingers trembling just slightly as he broke that tradition, slipped the slim from its carton and placed it between his lips. It had taken him almost five minutes to light it, Izaya’s hurling of insults acting as a catalyst for the process. Now, Izaya lingered by the kitchen table, fiddling with the fur of his coat he had slipped out of and hung on the back of a chair. “Guess.”

And Shizuo was still a bit angry, but more surprised that Izaya had even shown up this week after last week’s occurrence. But, he decided that Izaya has always been like that, hot and cold, and on some occasions, cold without any warning. “God, Izaya, how the fuck am I supposed to guess?” Shizuo snapped. “A few weeks ago we went to a gym. I don’t even think you’ve ever set foot into a gym in your goddamn life before that.”

“You’re no fun, Shizu-chan. You know, if I were making a list of your awful qualities, that would be number one: _stick in the mud._ ”

“I don’t care.”

He could almost hear Izaya’s frown, glancing over as Izaya approached him. “It’s massage therapy.”

“Massage therapy? So, we’re going to get in your car, and drive to some bullshit place just so I can have my back rubbed?”

“No, silly. I’m going to be your massage therapist.”

“No fuckin’ chance,” Shizuo barked, having to quickly suppress the image of Izaya’s hands gliding across his body to sustain his irritable attitude. “Besides, don’t you have to have like, training in that?”

“I don’t. I mean, really, Shizu-chan. How hard can it be?”

Apparently, that question was the next to be answered. Shizuo finally caved, and found himself now laying on his bed, stomach to the mattress. Resting on his cheek, he looked down, stretching his neck so he could see Izaya stepping towards him. “God, I don’t know why the fuck I’m letting you do this,” he said aloud, hoping that voicing it would help him believe it, help him shake his curiosity as to what Izaya would do next.

“Hush,” Izaya said. He stepped to the bed, climbing up and Shizuo watching as the mattress dented under his bony knee. Suddenly, Shizuo felt the weight upon him, shifted to see Izaya straddling his hips. Before Shizuo could protest, the indecent thoughts bombarding his mind, Izaya had slipped his fingers over his shoulders, had begun to knead the muscles. 

The answer to Izaya’s earlier question, was very hard. Shizuo consistently complained of Izaya’s roughness, of Izaya’s incapability to rub the spots just right. Of course, these were complaints made in Shizuo’s comparison of this work to that of a professional massage therapist’s work. In reality, Izaya wasn’t too terrible at massages, and he never was.

“If you’re not going to shut up, Shizu-chan, then I could just stop.”

“Please.”

Izaya sighed, removed his hands from Shizuo. “Fine … why don’t we play a game, then?”

“A game?”

“I’ll draw pictures on your back,” Izaya explained, “and you’ll have to guess what they are.”

“Why the hell would we do that?”

“It could be relaxing. And, if you’d _really_ like to know, I’ve unlocked my inner artist since we’ve been apart. My paintings have been in more museums than you can count! People love that I tap into raw emotion, because I only paint astonishing pictures of us making love.”

Shizuo’s skin heated at Izaya’s jesting, and he quickly grumbled, “Whatever, just draw pictures, damn.”

So, Izaya had run his palm across Shizuo’s back, straightened the clothing as to make an exceptional canvas. First, he used the tip of his finger to create a circle, then proceeded to make small lines emitted from the original. “Is it … the sun?” Shizuo guessed.

“Yup! You’re good at this, Shizu-chan,” Izaya chimed. “Okay, next one.” 

This time, it had been a cat. The next, a car. Shizuo had this strange sense of pride, rather foolish when considering the game was simple and Izaya’s pictures were far from complex, but the more he got right, the more accomplished he began to feel.

“Ready?” Izaya asked. His touch was softer this time, Shizuo feeling as the fingertips had simultaneously made two humps, and then trailed all the way to the small of his back to collide together in a single point. Embarrassingly, Shizuo had emitted a slight groan, a forced breath as the touch had grazed over his lower back. He could feel Izaya’s body shake utop his, the actual sounding of laughter following just after. “Wow, Shizu-chan. Were you always this easy to turn on?”

“Fuck off,” Shizuo growled, praying in his mind that he could sink into the mattress, and if not, simply just evaporate from the room. After a few, drawn-out seconds had passed, he felt he had everything under control. That was, until Izaya had just gently grinded, thrusted his hips forward and rubbed against that sensitive part of Shizuo’s back. It could have been accidental—but knowing Izaya, probably not. Either way, Shizuo quickly flipped the body from him, the brunet crashing just beside them only to roll further to land with a thud to the floor. Shizuo leaped up, muttering obscenities as he retreated to the bathroom. Behind him, he could hear Izaya’s chuckles.

As Shizuo splashed his face with cold water, looked at himself in the mirror as if to convince the reflection he wasn’t still infatuated with the male in the other room, he could hear weight press against the door, followed by Izaya’s muffled voice. “What’s wrong, Shizu-chan?”

“Seriously, Izaya, piss off,” Shizuo retorted, “I don’t need this from you right now.”

“I was only teasing you. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

Shizuo flew the door open, nearly ripping it from the hinges, to see Izaya almost stumble forward, those brown eyes quickly lifting to stare back at him. What was previously an indifferent expression was now a roguish grin. “You’re damn right it won’t happen again, because you’re fuckin’ leaving,” Shizuo snarled.

“Shizu-chan, you’re so unforgiving,” Izaya announced, protruding his underlip as to make a pout. Shizuo slid past him, stepping back into his bedroom. “We could even the score.”

Shizuo looked back to see Izaya, his back pressed against the doorframe and his arms crossed, that classic mischievous look returned to his face. He set his head back, his chin lifted as to expose his neck, and rolled his shoulders just slightly. “Humiliate me.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Well, you’re angry at me for embarrassing you, aren’t you? It’s like I’m giving you a free punch.”

“Can I just punch you instead?” 

“No, Shizu-chan, because I didn’t originally punch you. That wouldn’t make sense.”

“Didn’t I tell you to get the hell out of here?”

“Well, yes. But I was just thinking, what I did was probably uncalled for, and really, was only detrimental to your healing process. So, it’s only fair for us to be even. Besides, maybe this will help you disconnect yourself as being my equal. Once you see yourself as better than me, then maybe, it’ll be easy to leave me behind.”

“No chance in hell,” Shizuo replied, “you fuckin’ masochist.”

Izaya laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not asking you to get me off. I’m giving you the opportunity for anything, really. I can see you’re very close-minded, and can only think about things in an inappropriate manner, and maybe that’s because of a lousy sex life, but what I’m suggesting is rather broad. Ask me a question, and I’ll answer honestly. Don’t you remember, we wrote down huge ego as one of my very few flaws?”

Shizuo averted eyes, feeling relieved that he wouldn’t have to touch Izaya in order to complete this practice. When the question finally came to him, he glanced back, the hint of a smile upon his lips. Though this expression tended to waver under his nervousness, it was a start. “Okay, then. What was the best thing about dating me?”

“Hm … the best thing?” Izaya looked away, face turned so that he stared into the shadows of the bathroom. Before he answered, his eyes returned to Shizuo, half of his smirk visible. “Maybe, when you’d go to work every morning. Because I wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

“No way, you have to answer honestly!”

“Oh? But, what if that is the truth?”

Shizuo stepped forward, and Izaya didn’t budge, feet rooted to the floor as if to hold his complacency. With one arm wrapped to Izaya’s waist, Shizuo hoisted the male over his shoulder. Izaya kicked and punched, toes slamming into Shizuo’s thighs and balled fists pounding into shoulder blades. “Put me down, Shizu-chan!” With one swift movement, Izaya was thrown to the bed, bouncing upon the elasticity of the mattress. “Wha—?”

Before Izaya could answer, Shizuo had climbed upon the bed just beside him, had curled his fingers upon the brunet’s abdomen. When Izaya stifled a laugh, Shizuo smirked and sneered, “You’re still ticklish, aren’t you?”

“N-no! Never!”

At Izaya’s unbending composure, Shizuo increased the intensity of his movements, prompting a mixture of chortling and “ow’s”, to which Shizuo just slightly softened his touch. He leaned down, mouth just next to Izaya’s ear. “You know … you used to be really sweet.”

“I’m s-still sweet,” Izaya retaliated, “just n-not to you!”

“You gonna answer my question honestly now? If you do, I promise I’ll stop.”

“No!” Izaya shouted. “B-blackmailing? Who knew ... you’d be capable?”

In that moment, Shizuo had unintentionally caught a whiff of Izaya’s hair, instantly recognizing the scent—the shampoo they used to share. After all this time, even after moving out, he hadn’t corrected Shizuo’s mistake, which so straightforwardly implied Izaya had continued to purchase that shampoo on his own account. Shizuo dug the tips of his fingers into the skin, Izaya’s back arching upwards, as if an attempt to knock the hands off balance. In Shizuo’s distraction, Izaya craned his neck and nipped at Shizuo’s earlobe. Due to both the pain and daze stemming from the attack, Shizuo jolted upwards, his tickling ceasing. 

Izaya emitted a smug laugh, but did not move, still catching his breath. In his rough exhales, he’d managed just the smallest smile. “That.”

Shizuo, who was still rubbing at his swollen and reddened earlobe, furrowed his brows at Izaya’s word. “Huh?”

“That. That … was my favorite thing about us,” Izaya said, words so candid it had almost knocked Shizuo off-guard. Izaya continued, voice unhampered by his typical sense of superiority. “When we wouldn’t be arguing. Which, was rarely ever, if you remember correctly. And,” he sighed, “that’s why it never worked.” Sitting up, he fixed his shirt that had become awkwardly adjusted under Shizuo’s motions. “You’re welcome for the reminder.”

Shizuo had this awful habit of saying things aloud. Of course, it was not for the same reason a certain underground doctor couldn’t seal his lips shut, but rather because Shizuo was a slave to his emotions; when some sensation sunk into his gut, it was nearly impossible for him to not regurgitate those raw emotions in the form of words. And so recently, so much went unsaid. All the memories streamed through his mind: the gym incident, Izaya’s hypocritical ways, their so-called pretend fight that turned more personal and brought more buried memories to the surface than was intended. 

And so, Shizuo’s voice came out pleading, weak under Izaya’s stare. “Maybe we could change. Let’s try it again, do it right this time around. Hell, we could make it work.”

That hope for a reconnection had compressed when Izaya cackled. “It would never work, Shizu-chan.” The brunet slipped from the bed, headed to the bedroom door. Oddly enough, it had been what Shizuo was saying the male should do the entirety of his visit, but now, he wanted nothing but the opposite. As the doorknob twisted, Izaya looked over his shoulder, the hint of a smile upon his lips. Izaya’s voice was smooth, unwavering, everything Shizuo wished it wasn’t when he blurted, “Besides, I don’t love you anymore.”

In a huff of anger, of humiliation, Shizuo swept up one of his pillows, hurling it straight to Izaya. Being a sloppy throw, it had missed, crashed into the door frame in an explosion of feathers. Izaya had since skated from the room, and Shizuo could make out his front door slamming shut, the apartment falling silent save for Shizuo’s staggered breathing.

He stood from the bed, walked to the doorway to kick at the feathers upon his carpet. Never would Shizuo had bought such a pillow, had it not been for Izaya’s inability to sleep with anything other. Years after the relationship had ended, and he still hadn’t gotten rid of them. Frustrated, he scooped up the limp pillow case, stuffed whatever feathers he could back inside. He proceeded to stomp back to his bed, swept all three pillows there into his arms. Face buried into the ivory, he couldn’t see as he walked, had to stretch his neck in order to maneuver through his apartment.

Shizuo continued this practice all the way past the apartment’s humble lobby, outside into the chilled air to the dumpster. In one movement, powered by a prickle of passion, the pillows joined the piles of rubbish, too expensive and in too good of shape for the company of broken bottles and rotting leftovers. Shizuo didn’t care, he only pivoted on his heel, walked back around to his building as he rubbed his reddened hands together for warmth.

When he arrived back to his apartment, Shizuo returned to his list, snatching the pen from the counter and—with one hand pressing the paper to the fridge as his surface—scribbled down Izaya’s flaw. A flaw that overshadowed any other pen scratch on the page, that proved to be the worst thing about Izaya. When finished, Shizuo eyed it, that sinking feeling within his gut overwhelming. When he found himself starting to fall prey to his misery, he pushed the pen down, made circles around those four words until the tip of the pen had smashed in. When he stepped back this time, it was clear, more noticeable than all the others:

_Doesn’t love me anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! :)  
> P.S. I don't have anything against dating sites, haha!


	4. Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shizuo tried to pinpoint where that train had gone off-track, where he stopped hating Izaya and replaced the feeling with affection."
> 
> Shizuo turns to the past for unanswered questions, and gains something along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for comments and kudos, as always! I hope you enjoy! :)

Shizuo started his morning in his bedroom flickering the Zippo lighter to give life to a slim cigarette. Inhaling came as something more than a quick adrenaline, some feeling of newfound freedom pulsing through him.

He slumped back, head meeting the mattress. There were no pillows, because in his angered stupor he’d failed to remember he had no other pillows in the apartment. His neck was still sore.

Otherwise, the scene was rather relaxing. Coming through the blinds was a faint, deep yellow light, the room shadowed completely aside from that. Outside, he could discern the patter of rain, the occasional whooshing of wind and the almost grating crackling and popping of the building. To block out the noise, he exhaled slowly, watched as the billows of smoke rolled into the miserable air. 

He rolled to his side, extended his arm with the cigarette in hand to tap it against the newly placed ashtray on his bedside table. While doing so, his mind wandered what seemed like one hundred steps backwards, pulled up the thought of Izaya that he’d tried to bury. It only pained him more, to think of the brunet’s body quivering in laughter, the toothless grin that would so often stretch upon his face, his steady complacency. 

If there was one thing Shizuo agreed upon, it was that he’d been swindled from the very start. There could be no optimism for anything otherwise. Izaya had been the first of many: the first to admit he wasn’t afraid of Shizuo, the first to kiss Shizuo, the first to share such an intimate moment. The thought that pained Shizuo the most, wasn’t that Izaya was his first and therefore on some untouchable pedestal. It was rather that now, Shizuo wasn’t so sure Izaya would be his last.

__

By mid-afternoon, Shizuo had strayed to the living room, had moved his chain smoking session a whopping ten feet to the couch. He thought maybe, if he focused on the sensation nicotine delivered, he’d be numb to any negativity. He’d been wrong.

Looking back, it seemed a rather odd succession of events. He reminisced on his first encounter with Izaya, when Shinra had introduced the two and Shizuo had left with no gained acquaintance but rather a fresh enemy, the knife wound as proof. Then, he would’ve never imagined he’d be here, sitting in an apartment unit worn with heartache.

Shizuo tried to pinpoint where that train had gone off-track, where he stopped hating Izaya and replaced the feeling with affection. In the smoky haze, he recalled that one event, that may have served as an impetus to the beginning of the end.

It was the night after one of Shinra’s many attempts to reconcile that broken relationship on their behalf. Though, there was no restoration involved: Shizuo had hated Izaya from the start, which must have made it all the more difficult for Shinra, who had no tender emotions to play upon.

Of course, when Shizuo had arrived that night, he was never informed that Izaya would ring the doorbell not long after, didn’t even entertain the thought that his enemy would be joining them. When there was that call at the door, when Shinra had swung it nearly off the hinges to reveal that smug grin, Shizuo leaped up from his seat. 

There was no point in even trying to keep them both there. After a heated exchange, Izaya was bolting from the doorway, Shizuo not far behind. They’d hurried down the steps of the building, feet pattering together almost rhythmically on the iron stairs. More than once had Shizuo reached out, pulsed with some desperate whim to snatch the boy’s shirt and rip him back. But, Shizuo didn’t even know what he’d do once Izaya was caught.

They escaped into the city air, that industrialized jungle that was always so unwelcoming to the both of them. Nearly blinded by artificial lights, they’d shouldered through the crowd, Izaya making some sharp and desperate turn into a vacant building not too long after.

Shizuo could hardly contain the smile of a victor as he rushed inside, glanced back and forth only to find no Izaya. So, knowing very well Izaya was one to run and never hide, he ascended the rather unstable staircase, running down hall after hall of different levels until finally he’d been met with the last chance of locating his enemy. Before him stood the metal door to the roof, its painting chipped and adorned with several dents.

Without much hesitation, he turned the knob, climbing up that final set of stairs. When he’d pushed the door open, he was assaulted with both the chilled air and Izaya’s presence, the brunet sitting too close to the building’s edge for comfort. Shizuo clenched the sets of teeth together behind his closed lips, nearly mashing them under his jaw’s strength. “So, Izaya, looks like I’ve caught you.”

Izaya glanced over his shoulder, as if unaffected by Shizuo’s existence. “Looks can be deceiving.” 

Shizuo’s blood boiled, a wash of indignation swept over him as he stepped forward. “You know, you should really scoot back from the edge. It wouldn’t be as fun if it wasn’t me that killed you.”

“Oh?” Izaya’s smirk was just visible, the radiance of the city beyond them nearly shadowing his features. With one swift movement, Izaya had rotated, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as he propped himself up with palms to the roof surface. In this position, he and Izaya were facing one another. “You know, Shizu-chan, it’s almost degrading to me for you to believe you have me cornered.”

“What the hell are you saying?”

“Well, there are plenty of alternative endings to this scenario aside from the one playing behind your eyes right now. You could maybe smash my face in, or I could slash you with my knife. Or, maybe one of us falls off. That would be scary, wouldn’t it? To just fall and fall, and you’d never quite know when you were going to hit the ground, because your brain would probably be sent into shock. And, if that were to happen, one of us would have to alert the authorities, and come back to the scene to watch the body scraped from the pavement.”

“ … Why the fuck are you so depressing?”

Izaya paid no heed to the question, proceeding with his ramble, “Some say that a new universe is created every time a decision is made. So, if you were to hit me, there’d be a parallel universe constructed in which you didn’t hit me. It makes me think a lot, Shizu-chan. Is there some universe out there now, in which we are friends? Is there a universe in which Shinra never introduced us at all? Or maybe, there is even a universe in which we are lovers.” Izaya laughed as Shizuo’s face grew hot. “It makes me think … what universe will this one be?”

“Hopefully the one where I kill you right now, flea.”

This odd, pained smile played upon Izaya’s lips, some quick flash of true emotion before it was painted with its typical triumph. “Maybe, we aren’t so different.”

“ _Huh?_ ”

“Well,” Izaya began, bending his knees and pushing himself from the ground, now on his feet, “you are most certainly inhuman, so I suppose we aren’t alike in that sense.”

“Have you gone batshit? We’re not the same. You like to mess with people, ruin _my_ life. I’ve done nothing to deserve this shit.”

“You haven’t, in your eyes. That’s what I love about humans. So self-serving, so passionate for their own beliefs. Even if they were wrong to most, they couldn’t be convinced otherwise. That sort of drive to be correct … it’s almost admirable. But, in your case, I feel no love. I _hate_ it.”

“You aren’t making any sense. I came here to kill you, but Christ, I think you’re like, disoriented.” 

“Maybe. So, does this mean Shizu-chan is taking pity on me? My … that’s something I don’t think I’d appreciate,” Izaya replied, the quick flick of his blade catching Shizuo’s attention. It reflected the city lights, an array of colors in its luster. Slowly, Izaya raised his hand, the blade’s tip pointed to Shizuo’s chest. “I think I would like to be let go, however. There’s nothing here for me.”

“Why the hell you even run into this place then? You knew you’d be cornered.”

“Ah, I was hoping you’d listen to reason, for once. I was stupid to believe such a thing was possible.”

“So, why the fuck aren’t you scared now? There’s nowhere to run, aside from the edge of that building.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Shizu-chan.”

Those few words had resounded, it seemed, played in Shizuo’s ears again and again, even now. “That’s stupid,” Shizuo snarled, “because you should be.”

“Is it?” Izaya quizzed. “And I am expected to trust a protozoan to tell me how I should feel?”

“I don’t have time for your dumb games.”

Izaya clicked his tongue. With a look of distaste, all Izaya had said was, “You aren’t very entertaining tonight,” before springing into action. He lunged forward, knife hurled and heading straight on a path to Shizuo’s throat. A burst of alarm, Shizuo dodged, hearing the knife make contact with the exit door and clatter to the rooftop. And, when Shizuo had turned with a world-rattling desire to hoist Izaya over his head and toss him from the building, the blond had noticed his enemy was nowhere in sight.

After that incident, Shizuo had been so curious as to _who_ exactly Izaya was, why exactly the male talked in such philosophical prose or why his emotions were thoroughly superficial. It was an unanticipated response, a feeling Shizuo had tried to suppress. When he finally submitted to this desire for knowledge, Shizuo only thought of one place to go.

Reluctantly, he had pounded on Shinra’s door, just hard enough to form an indentation. When Shinra had answered, Shizuo recalled that disapproving look his peer had given the door’s fresh injury. “Come in,” Shinra had said with a exasperated sigh.

Quite the shock for Shinra, Shizuo cut straight to the point, demanded information on the brunet that Shinra obviously knew more about. If Shizuo remembered correctly now, he back then had coined the phrase, “What the fuck is Izaya’s problem?”

Expecting something so simple, a reason that would make Shizuo satisfied and his desire to pummel Izaya justifiable, Shizuo had been puzzled by Shinra’s sudden rambling. It was all difficult to follow, about how Shinra suspected Izaya to fear pain, or rejection, or _something_. Shizuo couldn’t exactly claim to be listening.

Eventually, though, Shizuo had bursted in laughter, to which he received narrowed eyes from Shinra. There was just something so tickling in Shinra’s theory. Izaya Orihara? The Izaya Shizuo knew, who taunted the most dangerous of humans on the daily? What Shinra said? That couldn’t _possibly_ be accurate.

Or, at least, that’s what Shizuo had first thought. When he’d returned home later, Shizuo reflected on it further. If Izaya feared suffering, why would the brunet flirt with the concept so often? Shizuo was the one who could hurt him the worst of all; why then would Izaya ever provoke the blond? If there was one thing Shizuo had accepted that night, it was that Izaya Orihara was a complete fool.

The next time Shizuo had encountered Izaya was on what he had previously thought to be the typical trip home. Izaya hadn’t looked all that prepared, probably hadn’t planned on such a confrontation as he strutted down the sidewalk with eyes blissfully closed. What had happened next was a blur, too quick to remember all details. However, Shizuo remembered it ending with the two hidden from the city’s life between three walls of brick, Izaya receding until meeting the deadend.

Though Shizuo didn’t think much of it then, he’d heard Izaya mutter, “ _Shit._ ” The cornered male glanced back and forth, eyes finally fixing upon Shizuo after doing the action a couple times. “Ah … familiar, isn’t it? I hope you haven’t forgotten, I’m good at adjusting to these strenuous situa—”

“You really aren’t afraid of me?”

Izaya sighed, head thrown backwards. “No, Shizu-chan. I’ve already answered this question. Or, did you think I was lying the first time around?”

Shizuo had stepped forward anyway despite the brunet’s claims, curled fingers around one of Izaya’s wrists and squeezed tightly, immobilized Izaya by backing him to the brick wall. They had been fairly close, looking back on it, Shizuo able to feel the warm breath against his neck. “So, if I broke your arm right now, you still wouldn’t be scared?”

Izaya tittered. “You think you could change my views just by hurting me physically? So typical of a monster.”

Shizuo tightened his grip, hand moving to pin down Izaya’s free arm, a precaution necessary if Izaya had a knife in his possession. Which, he always did. “You aren’t afraid of being hurt by me?”

“No,” Izaya admitted. “Wounds heal, Shizu-chan.”

All seemed to be at a standstill. It didn’t make sense to him; if Izaya was afraid of pain, afraid of suffering, why hadn’t his composure crumbled under such immediate threats? It was then Shizuo realized something he hadn’t considered before. Perhaps what Izaya feared wasn’t physical agony, but rather emotional torment.

What Izaya feared was rejection, sadness, heartache, envy. What Izaya feared, was maybe not so far from many of Shizuo’s own phobias.

When Shizuo’s grip had slackened, Izaya’s eyes had just faintly widened. Shizuo was sure his own expression was one indicating his revelation. In a gentle voice, Shizuo repeated, “We aren’t that different … are we?”

“Shizu-chan, what are you going on about now?”

“You said that, didn’t you? Just the other night. Is that what you meant?”

“Is _what_ what I meant?”

“Why, uh … why don’t we try something different, maybe? Something … that isn’t fighting.”

“Why? Because, Shizu-chan, have you forgotten? I _hate_ you. And all this time, I thought the feeling was mutual.”

“But why not give it a shot?”

Izaya chuckled, cocking his head to the side. “We’re not meant for that. Besides, wouldn’t it be wasted potential for this brilliant rivalry we have?”

“You said yourself that a parallel universe is created every time a decision is made. Which, you know, would mean in some other universe or whatever, we’d still hate each other. Let’s, uh … make this universe the one we try something different.” 

With his fingers still pressed to Izaya’s wrist, Shizuo could just barely discern the flutter of the brunet’s pulse, one of the very few errors in his demeanor. But, the smug smile still made its appearance, Izaya pressing his head back to the brick with his chin tilted up as he said, “Let’s give it a shot, then.”

They had. Met up every so often—out of the vision of others, of course, as they did have a reputation to uphold—just to talk, to joke as if they were old friends. It had been the start of an era, the beginning of conversations not entirely composed of insults, though Izaya always managed to filter a few in with his speech. Izaya, when not attacking Shizuo’s spirit, was fond of discussing his classmates, exploring aloud every nook of their existence. When Shizuo accused Izaya of being some stalker, Izaya had only responded with four words that left Shizuo unsatisfied: “I just love humans.”

At first, it had been odd, Shizuo often times erupting with vexation over something Izaya said. They’d release that anger by continuing their chases, though Shizuo never had intentions of hurting the other. As they got more talks under their belt, the air was less tense. On a few instances, Izaya had even shattered the barrier between them, had admitted things Shizuo never imagined to hear from him. Izaya so clearly knew Shizuo had discovered their similarity, so he had no real hesitation when he had said he was unenthused about growing older. To put them on equal ground, Shizuo had confessed he was fearful of hurting those he loved. Later in life, Shizuo thought it was idiotic of him to reveal such a thing.

But, back then, it had seemed right. It seemed necessary, for him and Izaya to connect on their collective uneasiness. It was never as somber as it sounded, however; they typically communicated in positive spirits, by weaving in quick jabs at one another to keep the topic light.

Shizuo always kept his distance, though. He wasn’t foolish enough to completely drop his guard and think Izaya changed for the better. Izaya was still probably willing to manipulate Shizuo, still eager to control Shizuo as his puppet. Shizuo held his ground, remained blind to reason. And that refusal was perhaps what kept Izaya interested.

It was after a few months of this practice, of consistently finding more and more time for one another that Shizuo began to feel a bit differently. He had never connected with someone in this way. He had a few friends—Shinra, Celty, Tom—but maybe nothing as candid as this. He and Izaya never refused topics. Being the outsiders, in some way too different to fit in among everyone else, they accepted everything, nothing being too controversial or too emotional for them to discuss. And maybe, this all had been his first mistake, because he grew attached.

Shizuo remembered the first kiss they had shared. It seemed random, out of nowhere in the middle of their typically predictable conversation. Izaya had instigated it, and Shizuo couldn’t seem to refuse, some inexplicable force controlling him. It was innocent, only a quick peck concealed from an audience in the alleyway. Shizuo was too flustered to go any further, settled for a what he called a “quick, cheap heart-to-heart,” because Izaya never inputted much emotion on these occasions.

The next kisses were cut from a completely different cloth. Neither of them had been very skilled at it, their first open-mouth kisses resulting in a bit too much drool and characterized by a strained use of tongues, but over time, they had improved. It was a process they underwent together, learning the mechanics of two bodies moving on one tempo, how exactly to fill the gaps. It had, however, taken a little longer than customary to learn sweet spots due to their inexperience.

Now, as Shizuo exhaled and the thoughts appeared to be wrapping up to their closure, he realized that the most agonizing memory had yet to come. In that way, these finales could never disappoint.

After that time spent learning about the brunet, that time spent discovering what usually just barely scratched the surface, Shizuo realized he was feeling something unlike anything he had before. There was twisting in his gut, the heart palpitations whenever just the very thought of his newly earned companion invaded his mind. It was only when he’d been swaddled in blankets one night, embraced by the solitude of his room, that he’d realized just what that was.

Lust. It was lust, in such an untainted and sensitive state that it had nearly made Shizuo ill. But, perhaps the sensation was even more lethal in that it was linked with an undeniable attachment. Teetering somewhere between this longing and the endearment only proved to add insult to the injury. 

It was every bit of humiliating for Shizuo to—one day, during a heated session—break their lip-lock for a desperate exhalation inviting Izaya to his house. Izaya had wrinkled his brows, before the widest grin appeared on his face. “Ah, is our current setup not enough for you?”

Shizuo shook his head, quickly conjured some lie. “I need help with homework.” By the look on Izaya’s face, Shizuo knew now the male didn’t buy into it. Back then, he’d been fairly gullible.

Later that night, Izaya had showed, thirty minutes after his anticipated arrival. Shizuo hadn’t voiced his anger, however, shockingly containing any irritation as he stepped aside to invite the male into his home.

“My, Shizuo … you never said your family wouldn’t be home.”

“The homework is in my room,” Shizuo blurted. “Or, I mean … it’s, uh … my backpack is in—”

“Just show me where your room is.”

When Shizuo flicked on the light, he realized his hands were trembling, unable to ward off his growing nervousness. Izaya stepped past him, walked into the room as he surveyed the vicinity. After the brunet had finished his inspection, he plopped down upon Shizuo’s bed. “So … this _homework._ ”

“I, uh … I don’t have any homework.”

“I know.”

The room slipped into silence, Shizuo rubbing at the back of his own neck as he averted his eyes. That discomforting quiet continued until Izaya rose, walked to Shizuo and slipped his arms around the blond’s waist. Izaya pressed his lips to Shizuo’s, deepening their kiss without any reluctance. When their lips separated for air, Shizuo took the opportunity to admit, “I’m not really … sure what to do. I mean, I’ve, uh ... researched, kind of, but I never … ”

“Me neither.”

Their lips fell back together, keeping their kiss as they backed towards the bed, crashing down upon it. Now, Shizuo could only recall a few details: the feeling of Izaya’s skin as Shizuo’s hands traveled beneath his shirt; the confusion as to how to put on a condom, because Shizuo was quivering all over with both overactive nerves and excitement and, by that point, his brain was equivalent to mush; Izaya not exactly knowing how it worked either, and the two having to figure it out together, playing the notes by ear as they continued; and the very sad fact that it hadn’t lasted all that long in comparison to that extensive preparation time.

Looking back, there was no way that Shizuo’s past self would have known this moment was a short glimpse of his future, the first taste of a love he’d not long after lose.

__

The next week felt the same. He was still wrapped up within a smoking session, unmoving but the clock and calendar clearly made up for it in his absence, when he realized Izaya had yet to swing by that week. Shizuo couldn’t blame him.

He’d been thinking about it more. There wasn’t much else to do—save for work, but typically, his mind would drift there, too. So, even if Izaya hadn’t shown up recently, it was as if he were always there. It was as if Shizuo’s thoughts breathed life into some other worldly form of him.

There were a number of things Shizuo didn’t understand. For one, why was it he was still so hung up on Izaya? It all seemed obvious—because the brunet had been Shizuo’s first love, and so much more. But Shizuo _accepted_ that, Shizuo gave the attention—and plenty of it—that the notion begged for. Why hadn’t it left him alone?

And Shizuo felt perhaps he was trying too hard. There was nothing left, and yet, he clung to that rope. By this point, his hands were no doubt raw and calloused, and the rope was more than likely reddened with his blood. Why was he unable to let go? In the most bluntly honest sessions of thought, Shizuo imagined the rope to be leading to nothing anyway, as if it had already been cut clean of him. It was probably laughing at him.

With all of this, came jealousy. He wasn’t positive that Izaya had found someone else—actually, it was extremely unlikely—but the thought of Izaya not holding love for him any longer drove him mad, made him wonder where it was directed.

And maybe, he didn’t understand Izaya as well as he thought he did. Izaya was manipulative, so skilled at pulling the right strings. All along—had he been doing that to Shizuo? Was it so wrong to even consider that possibility?

Shizuo rose from the couch, the furniture piece squeaking at his departure. He passed to one of his living room windows, slowly drew the blinds. An unexpected amount of light fell in, prompting Shizuo to shield his eyes. He lowered his hand shortly after his eyes adjusted. 

He leaned forward, some odd yearning to embrace it. He couldn’t, of course, it being intangible and more than likely, not wanting his touch, anyway. But he pressed his forehead to the glass, the chilled surface awakening. All that remained in his mind, a mantra, in repetition until it did not even sound like true words, was: _Izaya doesn’t love me, Izaya doesn’t love me, Izaya doesn’t love me_.

After awhile, he started believing it.

__

Shizuo actually made dinner for himself that night. So often he would resort to picking up a cheap meal, whether that was from the corner shop or a fast-food restaurant. But now he stood in his neglected kitchen, listening to the long forgotten cacophony of pots and pans. To be frank, he wasn’t sure he remembered how to cook. Despite that, he managed, as he remembered making meals occasionally for Kasuka, when his parents were out. That wasn’t terribly often, though, so he was no master chef by any means. 

Now, he sat at the table, a plate fixed and ready to eat, and a lovely view of his destroyed kitchen. He didn’t even think he _used_ all those dishes, but somehow, they’d landed on the pile in the sink. When he took the first bite of his dinner, he decided it was well worth it.

But, even that sort of self-reliance put him a slight step backwards, because he now thought about Izaya, and how he had always wished they could cook together, and how he’d, at one point, been naive enough to believe they had a shot at a family. But, none of that was his fault. He’d done his best. That was all he could do.

And, now with a new outlook, Shizuo thought about Izaya’s earlier offer, of setting him up with a blind date. It appealed to Shizuo, in that it would more than likely be beneficial. It could even work, with his fresh attitude.

He picked up his phone, not having enough courage to call but enough to type a brief text. 

_Hey, about that blind date. Think you could still set me up?_

With a thud, his phone returned to the table, and he continued picking through his food. He was still hungry, he thought, but there was now a definite confusion as for whether the stronger sensation was the hunger rumbling his gut or the nervousness fluttering there. The latter made him not want to eat. It obviously had the upperhand.

When he started to lose hope of ever receiving a response, the phone buzzed, and he snatched it up and flipped the lid before it was finished with its call. He clicked open the message in a swift, bold movement. 

_So, Shizu-chan changed his mind. Of course. But, I don’t think she’ll appreciate such short notice. Be ready Thursday. I’ll share more details later._

Shizuo slumped back in his seat. That only left three days to prepare himself, and for some, that would be plenty of time, but Shizuo had just started to feel better after years of not and had just managed to make himself dinner and had maybe just recently pissed Izaya off enough to make the male not visit him. All those things, those were seemingly impossible feats.

He typed a curt _Thanks_ , and tossed the phone back to his table. He could now only wonder what type of girl Izaya had selected, or would select, and wonder if she got the wrinkles around her eyes when she laughed, or if she had an annoying complacency, or if she was stubborn and a chatterbox and so apathetic. The real startling thought to him was that, even though this had been all he’d thought about for years and years, he wanted her to have none of these qualities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! :)


	5. Turned Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe the person he was before Izaya, and the person he was after Izaya were two different people ... "
> 
> Shizuo attends the date, but of course, nothing ever goes as expected for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is super late! I suddenly was very busy, and it took me awhile to think about the ending and where I wanted this fic to end up. :/ Thank you so much for kudos and reading! <3

“ _Hm_ … ”

“Could you hurry up? It’s cold as hell in here.”

“Patience is a virtue, Shizu-chan.”

A shirtless Shizuo sat on the bed, arms crossed, grumbling as he watched Izaya stretch and scour through his closet. Every so often, the brunet would pull a shirt out, hold it out an arms length and frown. He’d narrow his eyes, bite down on his lip, and then shake his head and return it to its place. Shizuo was close to dressing himself, but Izaya wouldn’t allow that.

Shizuo looked down at his watch, ran a hand through his uncombed hair. His date was only an hour away, and now he was wishing for time to slow, or at least for a cure for his nervousness, because his stomach began with a fluttering feeling and now it had advanced to a sickening cramp.

“By the way, Shinra called. We’re officially invited to his Christmas celebration this weekend. Lucky us, huh?” Izaya said.

“Yeah.”

As he looked back up, he saw Izaya had now limited his choices, was holding two shirts in front of him, tilting his head. Shizuo hadn’t expected Izaya to actually show up, not to mention be so supportive, especially after their latest clash, but Izaya had a funny way of being resilient after fights. Their last one as a couple was the only exception.

“Here,” Izaya said, tossing a shirt to the bed. It wasn’t anything special, just a deep blue dress shirt.

“ _Finally_.” Shizuo stood and fished an undershirt from his dresser, slipped it on and then Izaya’s choice overtop. He stopped before the mirror, ruffled his hair into place. He started buttoning the shirt, a tedious task, when he felt eyes burning through him.

Izaya stood beside him, attention fixed down but eyes slowly surveying Shizuo from the bottom up. He almost looked pensive, distant, with his eyebrows scrunched, his lips sucked in. And then, his eyes reached Shizuo’s face, and realization seemed to come as a quick jolt, because for one moment, Izaya’s expression was that of genuine shock—his lips parted, his eyes widened. That didn’t last long, though; hardly any of Izaya’s expressions ever did. But, instead of playing off the moment with a smug grin, an insult like, _“I was just seeing how terrible you look,”_ Izaya sighed, shouldered past Shizuo, offering a lousy wave as he left the bedroom. “I’ll be on the couch.”

Shizuo finished getting ready in the bathroom, brushed his teeth one last time, made final touches to his hair. When he walked to the living room, Izaya was sprawled on the couch, a blanket barely on top of him—both of his legs were left uncovered. His arms were behind his head, eyes fixed upon the television, which was a replay of something Shizuo swore he’d watched with Izaya before.

Shizuo stopped, watched Izaya, waiting for the brunet to look his way. After a minute or so, he announced, “I’m heading out.”

Izaya didn’t look at him, just replied, “I’ll watch the apartment.” Shizuo wasn’t sure what else to say, if there was anything _worth_ saying, so he headed out.

__

At that moment, it seemed like there was nothing more humiliating than sitting at a table, dressed up, in a fancy restaurant, alone. He watched the flame of a candle, serving as a centerpiece upon a white-table cloth. It flickered, every so often seeming like it was giving its final bow, before sparking back to life.

He shouldn’t be so worried. It was early: he had arrived ten minutes before the arranged time. Maybe that had been because of his eagerness to meet his date, or maybe his eagerness to leave an apartment harboring a stubborn, tight-lipped Izaya. He wasn’t exactly sure.

Taking one glance at his watch, he saw that it was 7:00 on the dot. When he looked back up, readying a sigh, he discovered that one quick glance away can cause one to miss a lot, because there was a girl before him, clothed in a form-fitting black dress, pulling out the chair and sitting down. He felt guilty missing her arrival, and even more so for not pulling out her chair for her—typical gentleman things. But, her smile swiftly calmed his nerves.

“Hi, um, you must be Shizuo.” Her voice was syrupy, a bit high-pitched. Dark hair was cut just at her shoulders, straight and glossy. In the candlelight, her face held a certain glow, a warm color reflecting off the shimmer of her blush.

Shizuo had been so distracted by simply _her_ , by her rose lips and the sudden flush of her face that he had forgotten how to form words. When her eyebrows drew in with concern, he snapped himself out of his trance. “Yeah, and ... um, actually, I never got your name.” That seemed odd to him, for Izaya to not even give him the name of his date, not to mention any background. But, this really wasn’t the best time to be thinking about Izaya. 

“Ryoko,” she replied, with a slight nod. Her pearly teeth were displayed once again.

The conversation continued, and went quite well. It started off with Shizuo explaining his work to her, how he served as a bodyguard for a debt collector—of course, he was sure to leave out the descriptions of the other things that job entailed, such as superhuman strength and broken bones—and finally reached her doing the same for him. She was a researcher, and thankfully, she extended the conversation by describing what that job meant, that her life had become a cycle of test tubes and late hours and endless piles of paperwork.

But, just as she was detailing her area of work, Shizuo was distracted by an odd sensation, by the sudden feeling that someone was staring at their table. His eyes drifted, surveying the restaurant, and he hadn’t even realized she noticed until her speaking dwindled to a complete stop, and she asked, “Is something wrong?”

Shizuo’s neck nearly snapped turning back to her. “N-no, no, not at all. Just, uh … a lot of people here tonight.” 

Ryoko laughed, nodded along. “Yeah, there are.” And then she turned her head, looked around the restaurant just as he had done. “All these ladies in dresses—I nearly wore jeans to this date, to be honest with you.”

Shizuo chuckled. He looked down, took a sip of his water and then fiddled with the straw, pushing down the ice cubes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have known what to wear if it wasn’t for Izaya picking it out for me.”

“Who?” Ryoko asked, and Shizuo looked up to her, probably with a classic deer-in-the-headlights type of look because, dammit all, he just mentioned his ex on a first date.

“Oh, he’s, uh, just a friend.” And then Shizuo suddenly felt hot in his suit, because he had said "just" which maybe implied that there was a possibility of a romantic relationship between them, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she noticed and—

“He sounds like a good friend,” Ryoko said simply, a kittenish grin upon her lips. “If he wouldn’t have been there to pick out your clothes, I might have been sitting here still waiting on you.”

At first, he was completely in awe, because he thought he had just royally screwed up their entire date and here she was, rolling with the punches. He returned the smile, eyes focusing in on her, before his skin started tingling and he felt it again, like someone was staring him down.

Swiftly, almost aggressively, in a movement that seemed to startle Ryoko, Shizuo twisted in the seat, arm placed on the top of the chair. And, without really thinking about what he was saying or how loudly he was saying it, he grumbled, “What the hell?” 

The whole restaurant hadn’t heard, but he was certain his date had, along with a few of the tables around him. He wasn’t really concerned though, and those few tables joined him in this awkward tension before returning to their date. Shizuo, though—he kept his eyes locked.

Shizuo’s brow furrowed, his eyes squinted, straining to see the face. It was Izaya, he was sure of it, sitting at the table just behind him. Izaya was looking at his date—who, to Shizuo, was just shoulders and black hair, half-way down her back. And then, Izaya had the audacity to look past her face, meeting eyes with Shizuo. He leaned out a bit, and waved, a smug grin on his face like he hadn’t just been moody at Shizuo’s apartment, like he hadn’t just been spending the past few weeks training Shizuo to move on.

And, just when Shizuo didn’t think it could get any worse, Izaya stood and walked toward their table. He made a quick detour, stopped to collect his date. She rose and linked arms with him before the two approached Shizuo’s table.

The date was sophisticated, the embodiment of affluence, with her black, sleek hair in waves, lips painted blood red, and slender frame underneath a dark blue dress. To make matters worse, her eyes were fixed upon Izaya’s face, like she was completely enthralled by his existence. Shizuo clenched his teeth together behind closed lips, tried to hold himself back from snapping Izaya’s arms right there.

“Shizu-chan! Who knew I’d run into you here tonight?” 

“Yeah, who knew?” Shizuo repeated acidically. 

Izaya looked to Ryoko with sweet smile—one more charming and agreeable than Shizuo had ever seen—and said, “I’m Izaya. You are?”

“Ryoko,” she replied. Her once stunning smile had diminished into something forced, and she glanced away, and Shizuo just wanted to tell Izaya to go the fuck away. 

“Well, Ryoko, do you mind if we join you?” Izaya asked. “I’d just like to help out my friend. You see, he can be a little timid, especially after his last ex.” Izaya clapped down a hand upon Shizuo’s shoulder. “A long relationship, a lot of baggage here.”

Ryoko frowned—as much as she could, because it almost seemed impossible for her to look angry or upset in any way—and nodded. She stared down into her water as Izaya strayed from the table to drag chairs along, putting them at the open curves of the circled table. He sat down in his, a smile upon his face like he was blissfully unaware. Shizuo had to fiddle with the tablecloth just to stop an outburst; as much as he wanted to stomp Izaya into the ground right now, he didn’t want to ruin his date with Ryoko.

“So, Ryoko, how’s the date been going so far?” Izaya kicked back, leaned in his seat rather informally.

“Good,” she said, now sporting a weak smile. Shizuo’s heart sank, nearly ached under the embarrassment, and now he realized there was something more humiliating than sitting alone in a fancy restaurant, and that was sitting in a fancy restaurant while your ex interrogates your date.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Izaya said, though he didn’t seem all that happy to hear it, tone holding more of a feigned enthusiasm. “So, you think there will be a date two?”

“ _Izaya_ —” Shizuo started.

And then, Ryoko had really shocked Shizuo, because she looked right to Izaya, with a sudden, wide grin on her face, and said, “Hopefully, yes.” She could read the room, that was for sure, and after shooting that bullet at Izaya, she added insult to the injury by flashing a lovable smile to Shizuo.

Izaya’s lips flatlined for a moment, before teetering back into a smirk. “Really? I must say, I’m shocked to hear so.” Ryoko shrugged her shoulders, lifted her glass off the table to sip at her water, catching the straw between lacquered nails. And Shizuo had just started to regain his composure, when Izaya asked, “Are you going to put out then?”

Ryoko choked on her water, lowering the glass to the table as Izaya’s eyebrow raised. Shizuo could see it, that Izaya had now gained control of that imaginary hand in the situation, and this time, he didn’t care what his date—or anyone else in the restaurant—thought, or what exactly it was Izaya was trying to do. Shizuo stood, grabbed Izaya’s arm and wrenched him to his feet. Shizuo was sure his face was reddened, could feel his jaw shifting as he pulled Izaya close and, through bared teeth, said, “Let’s talk.”

Izaya looked as if he were caught off-guard for a moment there, the same look he had given to Shizuo earlier. His grin soon found itself again, and he cooed back, “Sure, let’s talk.” As Shizuo began to drag him out, past the other tables, eyes upon them, he turned and called, “Excuse us, ladies!”

Shizuo finally let go of Izaya when they were outside, in an alley. He shoved Izaya back to the brick, but that only sparked cackling from the brunet. As a precaution, Shizuo pinned down Izaya’s wrists. “Tell me, what the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” Izaya laughed, forced and exaggerated. “I don’t have a problem, Shizu-chan. I was just checking up on your date—I was sure you would ruin it.”

“Are you delusional?” Shizuo snapped. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“I just wanted to have some fun. And, besides, I couldn’t have my ex dating someone unworthy. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to fix you, I don’t need someone coming along and ruining that.”

“That’s my problem! If I get ruined, or whatever the fuck it is you think will happen, then let it happen. Christ, it’s like you own me.”

“I was only helping.”

“I never asked for your damn help!” Shizuo shouted, and it seemed to bounce off the empty alley walls. Izaya’s expression was strange, a smile that did not reach his eyes. Shizuo was beginning to lower his voice, to release his anger in labored breaths, when he said, “I don’t want to see you again, you hear me? I don’t want your help anymore.”

“Aren’t you forgetting that we are expected at Shinra’s Christmas Party this Saturday? I’d hate to see the looks on our friends faces when we don’t arrive together, as the perfect couple we’ve always been.”

“First off, we’re not a fuckin’ couple anymore, got it? But fine, come over Saturday. I swear to God, Izaya, that’s the last time I want to see your face.”

“Fine,” Izaya replied curtly. He wiggled his wrists underneath Shizuo’s grasp, struggled to be let go. Shizuo did so, and Izaya instantly slipped from the wall, heading down the alley. He didn’t glance back, but offered a flippant wave. “Tell my date I went home. Or don’t—it doesn’t matter. Have fun, Shizu-chan. I hope your date puts out.”

Shizuo stood there and watched as the figure turned the corner and disappeared, and only then had what really happened settled. He couldn’t believe what he had done: weeks ago, he was drunk-dialing Izaya, begging him to come back. Minutes ago, he ordered Izaya to never return. After waiting there for a few minutes, scuffing his shoes against the concrete, waiting for something he wasn’t sure was, he headed back into the restaurant.

__

When Shizuo woke up, his first thought was that his apartment was freezing cold. His second was that today was the day, Christmas Eve, and Izaya was probably on his way over right now. He groaned, rolled over and was surprised to see it was only two in the morning.

He tried to fall back asleep, but an image of a clock behind his eyes made him restless. It was ticking, counting down to the moment Izaya would arrive. He still hadn’t forgotten the look in Izaya’s eyes that night in the alley, or shaken the feeling it instilled in him: regret, distress, the sensations he remembered gnawing at his skin the first time Izaya had left him. He felt his mouth go dry, a pit of anxiety deepening in his gut. He wasn’t sure what he wanted.

And then, he thought about Ryoko’s face when he stumbled back into the restaurant. She was readied to stand up, give him a hand. “Are you okay?” she asked, like he’d been shot.

He didn’t remember frowning, or scowling, or anything that would’ve disclosed what he felt inside; he even tried to muster his most agreeable look as he made the walk back to the table. “I’m fine,” he said, “really.”

She didn’t look too sure. And, of course, Izaya’s date didn’t really care, only asking, “Where’s he at?”

“Left. Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, heels clacking as she pivoted and stomped from the table. Shizuo had kept his eyes on Ryoko. She looked regretful, almost. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Was his fault anyway.”

She frowned, averted eyes to the table, and he remembered her dabbing her napkin to her lips as some sort of diversion. She still held the napkin close to her mouth as she said, “Maybe we should go home, get some rest. We can try again another time.” And so, they did just that. Shizuo now wondered if that was the wrong decision.

Once realizing that sleep wasn’t a possibility, he moved out to the couch and stretched out, wishful thinking that sleep would visit him on the couch if not in his bed. He clicked on the television next, flipped to an early-morning news station; he hardly ever watched the news, but that was all that was on, aside from those low-budget movies. He wasn’t really in the mood for movies.

Somehow, Shizuo was quickly blessed with eyelids that fought to keep open, with arms and legs that almost seemed difficult to move, like it wasn’t worth that effort. The news lady was rambling on about something—a homicide, maybe—and then it promptly switched to the weather. Which was almost funny to Shizuo. _Someone was brutally murdered nearby, but the real question is, how much sun will we be getting today?_

The weather wasn’t looking too good. Or rather sounding, because Shizuo had closed his eyes by that point. A blizzard, set for seven that morning. The gears in Shizuo’s mind were quick to operate, and maybe that was just because he now had an excuse to wiggle free from his plans with Izaya. Izaya couldn’t _possibly_ make it over here with a blizzard.

Shizuo reached to grab his phone, flipped open the lid. The light of the screen nearly blinded him, and he let a few profanities slip as he opened a new message. But, even that took him a few minutes, because his mind was getting so acquainted with sleep that it was hard to function. 

He typed out a simple text, and laid his phone back down. His eyes were watering now, and closing them brought the greatest relief. He hadn’t even realized it when he fell asleep.

__

Shizuo woke up for the second time today, checked his phone, and saw it was now 8:30 in the AM. He also saw that the text message he had typed was still open, ready to be sent, except just then there was a knock at his door and Shizuo was sure that sending the text now wouldn’t do any bit of good.

He stood, approached the door slowly, as slowly as possible, hoping that maybe Izaya would just turn around and go home. But, sadly, he made it to the door before any such thing could happen. As he flung the door open, he was met with the sight of a shivering Izaya, hair covered with white flakes and drenched with those that had already melted, lips tinted blue. He ushered Izaya in, felt himself growing concerned, even if he didn’t really want to be.

“What the fuck—you still walked here?”

Izaya slipped from his coat, draped it over the back of the kitchen chair. He stared at it for a minute, looked back down at himself. His body still quivered, and his speech was broken because of it. “I-I suppose I should r-remove the rest of my clothes.”

Shizuo’s heart felt like it was hammering against his sternum. “Wha—why?”

“They’re s-soaking wet,” Izaya said, and he flashed a look as if it were obvious. He shamelessly did it, too, started with removing his shirt, and then unfastening his jeans, slipping them off and kicking them aside. As he stood there, nearly completely exposed, Shizuo saw the goosebump-covered, pale skin he probably once kissed every inch of. Izaya wasn’t returning his stare, and he spoke nonchalantly, “I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay,” Shizuo said, but he wasn’t even sure Izaya heard him, because the male was practically in the bedroom by the time it left his lips. He stood there for a moment, processing what had just happened, trying to imagine that line drawn between them in his mind: Izaya had ruined everything, Izaya no longer loved him—the list seemed endless, and yet, he had to remind himself why Izaya was not an option.

He eventually strayed to the kitchen, making himself hot chocolate and brewing warm coffee for Izaya. He only had coffee here because of Izaya; he bought it when the male returned weeks ago. He figured he might as well use it. Though, as he was setting out all the cups, everything he needed, he wasn’t quite sure what type of coffee Izaya would like. He had purchased all sorts, and he knew he was never going to drink all of this. 

He wondered if Tom would take them, since he probably wouldn’t see Izaya again after today.

Shizuo was en route to the bathroom to ask when he bumped into a kitchen chair. It hadn’t been that unusual, until he heard a faint slap against the floor, something light landing. He looked down, eyeing a piece of paper, folded, sitting right below Izaya’s coat.

He scooped it up, because really, what did he have to lose? Besides, he was always wondering what Izaya was up to in his free time. Back then, he supposed he didn’t want to know. As he unfolded the paper, he instantly recognized the handwriting, Izaya’s, scribbled in ink pen. There were bullet points, little phrases written beside them. “ _Too nice, gets angry quickly, eats too many sweets, really insecure, can be stupid sometimes, too good for me_ … ”

As his eyes trailed further down the page, Shizuo’s heartbeat quickened. This couldn’t be what he thought it was, no way. His hands were shaking just slightly, his lips pressed together in his distress. And then, he reached the final phrase documented: “ _Deserves better._ ”

“Ah, look—your clothes still fit me … sort of. I guess you haven’t gotten any tall—” Shizuo’s head snapped up, seeing Izaya standing before him. He had a t-shirt on, boxers on bottom, both belonging to Shizuo. That wasn’t terribly unusual back in the day; Izaya would constantly borrow clothes. But, what was unusual was the way he looked then, eyes wide and cheeks vaguely flushed. Shizuo couldn’t tell if it was in embarrassment or anger. “What are you doing?”

Anger, definitely anger. “What is this?” Shizuo asked, but he was starting to choke on his own words.

Izaya’s response was a curt, “It’s not important.” 

“ _Izaya_ —”

“It’s not important, Shizuo.”

Shizuo nearly flinched at the oddity, hearing his real name come from that male’s lips. He urged, “Tell me!”

Izaya sighed, drawn out, exasperated. “It’s a list.”

“Of what?”

“Of your flaws,” Izaya answered.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a list of your flaws, like the one we made for—”

“No, no I get it,” Shizuo interrupted. They stood there for a moment, eyes fixed until Izaya glanced away. “But why?”

“You’re so stupid. That one is on there, right?”

“ _Izaya_ —”

And then, something in Izaya snapped. Shizuo had only seen it once, back when they broke up. Any composure disintegrated, his voice grew uncharacteristically loud. “Look, you think this breakup was easy for me? I spent the last three years trying to clean up this fucking mess. When I saw you were still throwing your little pity party, I came out here only to cheer you up, because I thought making you move on might make it a little easier for me. What I wasn’t planning on was you being so stubborn.”

That last part ignited Shizuo swiftly, so much that he honed in on it, disregarded everything else. “Stubborn? I'm not the one who ruined a fuckin’ date the other night.”

“Oh please, like you ever liked her.”

“Shut up!” Shizuo’s blood boiled as he inched closer.

“Tell me, Shizuo, do you? Did you actually imagine yourself with her? Huh? Getting married, having tons and tons of children. Would you call me up to babysit?” His laughter was unsettling, beginning to overpower his words. “Or maybe, you’d just invite me over every great once in awhile, so I could see how perfect your dumb fucking family is. Is that it?”

“What’s your damn problem?” Shizuo yelled.

“You’re so stupid!”

“ _Answer me!_ ” Shizuo shouted, and he realized now that he had Izaya backed against the wall. “ _Answer me!_ ” he demanded again, but by the look on Izaya’s face, he wasn’t going to speak anytime soon. Shizuo wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that look. There was a fire in his eyes, already sparked, but there was also some tinge of sadness, like he was shocked by Shizuo’s reaction. 

How could he be? Was he that dumb, to think Shizuo would just pardon everything he had done? 

Shizuo yelled it one more time, inches from his face, and then seconds later he realized his lips were pressed to Izaya’s. He hadn’t felt that kiss in so long: the soft feeling of Izaya’s lips, the sensation he always felt when kissing Izaya.

Shizuo had him pinned to the wall with his hips, removing his hands from Izaya’s wrists and instead cupping the brunet’s face with them. Izaya’s hands slipped lower, swiftly unbuttoned Shizuo’s pants. And then, Izaya’s cold fingers were sliding across his skin, slipping under the waistband of his boxers. The touch made him shiver, moan into the kiss.

“ _Izaya_ —”

“Stop,” Izaya groaned before bringing their lips back together.

Shizuo supposed it was perfect. Here he was, kissing the very cause of his many sleepless nights, and that cause was kissing him _back_. He was finally feeling something, after years and years of not feeling anything at all, and there was the warmth of Izaya’s body against him and the way the brunet’s fingers danced across his skin and the shared air between them—

So why was he also feeling nothing at all?

It was a complete contradiction of everything he thought he was feeling—or maybe, thought he should be feeling—because even though there was a bubbling in his gut and his heart was beating so fast it hurt, he was simultaneously empty. He was, in some odd way, disconnected from the moment, and he suddenly realized that kissing Izaya was starting to feel like kissing anyone else.

After minutes of indecisiveness, Shizuo broke the kiss, placing his hands on Izaya’s shoulders to create the distance between them, the brunet’s hands returning to his side. “Izaya, we have to stop.”

Izaya’s eyebrows quirked, and even though he seemed so confused and hurt, he was quickly chuckling. “Why’s that?” 

Shizuo swiped his tongue across his own lips, taking a swift look at his shoes, as if that would lend him any confidence. “I just … I don’t think I love you anymore.”

It was suddenly quiet—too quiet to be in Izaya’s presence—and Shizuo was averting his eyes from the male before him. The silence only made him sorry for what he’d said, even if he meant it. 

Did he mean it? 

There was some uncertainty swirling in his mind, and Shizuo thought maybe he should laugh and tell Izaya he was only giving him a taste of his own medicine, but when he opened his mouth he quickly realized the laughter wasn’t leaving his lips.

Shizuo looked to see Izaya, head thrown back in hysterics. The brunet leaned completely on the wall, one hand over his gut. The laughter was grating to Shizuo’s ears—forced, obnoxious, over-the-top. Exactly the sort of noise he’d expect from Izaya, actually, but maybe not in a moment like this. He spotted the sudden glint of a single tear before Izaya wiped it away. 

“Of course … it’d be like this,” Izaya managed to choke out.

Shizuo felt awkward, so all he managed to get out was a simple, “Yeah.”

Izaya hadn’t said much after that—only some gibberish Shizuo didn’t care to translate—and after a few more moments of discomfort, Izaya’s performance was sputtering to an end. “Ah,” Izaya said, taking one deep, gasp-of-a-breath in. “I suppose I should leave, shouldn’t I? I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Suddenly, Izaya was slipping from the wall and heading back into the bedroom. After the opening and slamming of a few drawers, Izaya walked back out wearing a pair of Shizuo’s sweatpants, clearly pulled up as high as they’d go, the strings pulled as tight as possible. Next, he was sliding into his coat, sweeping up the paper that had been crumbled under Shizuo’s fist. Shizuo could barely get a word in, when suddenly, Izaya was waving goodbye and shutting the door behind him.

There was a sudden impulse to chase after Izaya, for Shizuo to allow himself to fall in love with the brunet all over again. That’s what he had always wanted, right? But, at one point, that would’ve been the exact opposite of what he’d want. Maybe the person he was before Izaya, and the person he was after Izaya were two different people, and as he took a seat on his couch and stared out of the window already covered in layers of snow, he decided he should start listening to the person who had loved Izaya, but no longer did.

__

Izaya wasn’t even sure Shizuo knew he was still out here, and that simple question somehow answered all of his, because that meant Shizuo hadn’t stormed out of his apartment looking to track him down.

He slammed his head back to the door, closing his eyes and exhaling. Over and over, because he knew that was what his humans did whenever they were stressed.

Was stressed the word for it? Maybe angry—that sounded right. Or disappointed, furious, upset, confused. But never heartbroken, of course, because he was Izaya Orihara and heartbroken wasn’t a word he was acquainted with.

His lip started to quiver, and that’s when he decided he should breathe slower. He shook his head, allowed a pathetic snicker to leave his lips.

“Somehow, I’ve made you fall _out_ of love with me. You are always doing the unexpected, aren’t you, Shizu-chan?” It suddenly hurt to say that name. He tried to laugh it off, but after his show in Shizuo’s apartment he wasn’t sure he had any strong laughs left within him.

“It’s not terrible, right? As a charming, intelligent boy once said, there are millions of universes beyond this one. Ones where we are still enemies, ones where we have never even met. Which means there are universes out there where we are still in love, huh? I guess this one was never meant to be it.”

He hated this. He hated sitting outside Shizuo’s door, throwing a private pity party for himself, but there was nothing else to do with feet of snow piling up outside. Maybe he should knock. Or maybe, he should try to trudge through the mountain of snow, because the frostbite would probably hurt less than this.

_How pathetic am I? _he thought.__

__He sighed, drawn out and shaky, and unfolded the crumpled paper in his fist. He did his best to straighten it out, enough that the broken pen scratches started to look like words again. “I suppose I can’t leave our story unfinished, right?”_ _

__Sliding so that he sat on his knees, he turned to face the door. He held the paper against the surface, pulling a pen from his pocket and removing the cap between his teeth. There, his trembling hands finished the list he’d started years ago. When the masterpiece was finally finished, he leaned back a bit, narrowed his eyes to take in what he’d just written:__

_Doesn't love me anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!! It means so much to me! :)


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